


John Laurens is Coming Home

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Barebacking, Cheating, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Man, Politics, References to Drugs, Self-Harm, Wall Sex, Whamilton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: Alex is blowing George off for dinner with John Laurens—a mysterious friend he's never mentioned before.This is fine…Right?





	1. Enter: John Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a political junkie (poli sci majors for the win), so there's some politics in the beginning. It's not too wonky or boring though; I promise. Also, John Laurens finally makes an entrance. Get ready folks.

“You should set up a meeting with Senator von Steuben and Congressman Ames. They’re eager to start working on education policy. I’m sure we could get a solid bill written for free community college. I don’t see how anyone can be opposed to that, even Republicans. It’s just a good idea.”

“I agree, sir,” says Betsy Ross, his secretary of education. “I was thinking it might be smart to go public on the issue, get the public on our side and put some pressure on Congress. Lafayette, Angelica, and I were talking about it the other day.”

George nods and leans back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. “That could work. I could set up speaking engagements at various community colleges…” George trails off and absently spins his pen in his fingers. “You know, I could do a speech at a community college in every state. That would really make a statement.”

“In every single state in the country? That would be a major time commitment, Sir,” Ross says, looking a little skeptical. 

“Well, we’ve got a little over a year until midterms. That’s more than enough time. Plus, I’m young,” George says with a grin. “I think I can handle it.” 

Ross laughs and nods her head. “It could work. We can start drafting a bill as soon as possible.”

“It might be smart to try to get some Republicans on board with you, especially from Southern states. Tennessee Congressman Joseph Anderson might be a good choice; if I remember correctly, part of his platform was education reform, and he’s anti-school choice. Then, lets see, Georgia Senator Abraham Baldwin might also be willing to get on board.”

Ross smiles as she scrawls some notes in her notebook. “Your knowledge of Congress is rather impressive, Mr. President. Usually that kind of stuff is left up to the staff.” 

George shrugs and sets his pen down. “I like to know what I’m working with. I can’t leave all of the work up to Lafayette and Angelica. Plus, I think it’s kind of exciting trying to whip votes. Schuyler is a damn good majority whip, and it’s fun to discuss it with him.” 

Ross closes her notebook and recrosses her legs. “I was minority whip for a few years under President Franklin back when the Republicans controlled Congress. Being minority whip is a little frustrating. I can only hope we hang onto Congress in the midterms.”

George nods and goes back to fiddling with his pen. “I think we have a pretty good shot. I’m a little worried about Congressman John C. Thomas in the Maryland 2nd; that Richard Sprigg Jr. is generating a lot of buzz, and Thomas is getting old. I think people are starting to get tired of him. And, I mean, I don’t exactly blame them. He’s not very good at his job. 25 years in Congress and no major legislation to show for it? That’s a little sad.”

There’s a knock at the door, and George sits up a little straighter in his chair. “Come in.”

Betsy, his secretary, sticks her head in and smiles apologetically. “Sorry to interrupt Mr. President, Mrs. Secretary, but it’s almost time for your staff briefing, Sir.” 

George smiles and nods, giving Ross an apologetic look. “Thanks Betsy.”

“Of course, Sir.” Betsy smiles and closes the door behind her.

“I’ll let you get on with your day, Mr. President. I’ll get that task force together and start working on drafting legislation. I’ll be in touch with Lafayette and Angelica.”

“Thank you Mrs. Secretary. It’s a pleasure as always.” George stands and shakes her hand and walks her to the door. “You can tell everyone I’m ready for the briefing, Betsy.” 

George goes back to his desk and sits down, trying to stifle a yawn. Thanks to Alex, George didn’t get much sleep last night, and his schedule was jam packed. He’s still trying to make up meetings and events from the couple of months he missed during his recovery from the assassination attempt. 

Soon his staff is coming into the office, and George smiles fondly at Alex. Alex winks and sits down on one of the couches. Humphreys, the new senior advisor he hired last month, sits down next to him and whispers something in Alex’s ear. Alex laughs and rolls his eyes. George knew the two of them would get along well. 

“Good morning, Mr. President,” Lafayette says, as chipper as ever. 

“Good morning, Gilbert. You’re in a good mood this morning.”

Lafayette’s eyes twinkle and he sits on the couch opposite Alex. “I sure am, Sir. Adrienne just called me to let me know that Geo will be starting pitcher for his 12 year old little league team.” 

George immediately grins and has to resist the urge to get up and hug Lafayette. He looks back on the time he spent with the Lafayettes after Martha died and remembers Geo as one of the only bright spots. The long hours he spent outside teaching Geo to throw a baseball were a miraculous break in the gloom that seemed to surround him.

“That’s awesome. I’ll have to try to come to one of his games, assuming that the hoard of Secret Service won’t ruin the whole care-free atmosphere of the baseball game. George and Lafayette both chuckle, and Angelica looks at them amusedly. 

“Men are such softies when it comes to children,” she teases. 

“Have you _seen_ a picture of Geo?” George asks. “He’s like the cutest little kid on earth.”

“Lafayette’s office is basically a shrine to his son, so yes, I’ve seen plenty of pictures. He is really freaking cute.” 

“If he heard you call him a little kid, he’d be pissed,” Alex says. “When I ate dinner with Gil a couple of weeks ago I called him ‘little man’ and I thought he was gonna hit me with his baseball bat. He’s a pre-teen, thank you very much.”

George laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, we should probably talk about actual presidential business. Betsy has me booked down to the minute today, so we don’t have too much time.”

Everyone settles in and gives him their reports and offers their opinions on various issues. Hercules gives him several versions of a speech George is delivering at an event honoring black men hanged in the South during the 1950s and 60s, and George sets them aside to review and edit tonight. 

Humphreys and Alex help dissect a sudden flare up in tensions between Israel and Palestine, and he briefly discusses launching the free community college initiative with Lafayette and Angelica. 

When everyone is finished, he dismisses them, and like always, Alex hangs back. 

“Hey baby,” he says, coming over to sit on George’s lap. George wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and presses his face into the crook of Alex’s neck. Alex is wearing George’s cologne, and for some reason, that goes straight to George’s cock and it twitches in his pants. 

Alex quirks an eyebrow and smirks. “I thought that surely you would be worn out after last night.”

George laughs and kisses Alex’s neck gently. “You’re wearing my cologne.”

“Yeah. I forgot mine at my apartment. You like that I’m wearing your cologne?” Alex murmurs. 

George nods and swallows as he feels himself hardening, his cock pressed against Alex’s ass. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. 

“When’s your next appointment, love? Maybe we can go up to the Residence and take a break?”

George has to bite back a moan as Alex grinds down on George’s cock and squeezes his thigh.

“It’s in like five minutes.” George breathes in sharply as Alex takes one of George’s hands and puts it on his own hardening cock. 

“C’mon, baby, tell Betsy you’ve got something you need to take care of.” Alex grinds down again, and George gasps softly. He squeezes Alex’s cock through his pants, enjoying the soft moan it elicits. 

“I-I can’t. I have a call with Ambassador Schuyler about the UN vote to send extra aid to Syria.”

“But baby, can’t you feel how badly I need you? I know I can feel how badly you need me. I want you to fill me up like you did last night. You’re so good to me, George,” Alex purrs as he grinds down hard. 

George curls his toes against the floor and leans his head back, clenching his fists. “Okay, hold on,” he says through gritted teeth. George shakily picks up the phone and dials Betsy’s extension. 

“Mr. President, do you need something?”

“I need you to cancel my call with Ambassador Schuyler. A situation just came up that I need to take care of.”

“Of course, Sir. I’ll take care of it.”

Ever since Dr. Rush cleared George for more strenuous activities, their love-making has become more frequent and more intense. Often times, they have sex before bed, then Alex wakes him up in the middle of the night for more, and they wake up a little earlier to have a slow, leisurely round before getting ready for the day. Getting shot changed something in their relationship, and sometimes George feels almost feverish with his need to be with Alex, to connect them together. 

“Do you want to go to the Residence, baby?” Alex asks as he moves his hips in a slow circle. George bites down on Alex’s shoulder and pushes his hips up. 

“No time. We’ll go to my private study.” 

Alex hops up and George hurries after him. As soon as they get into the private study, George wraps his arms around Alex from behind and playfully nips at his neck. Alex laughs and presses back against George’s cock. 

“You’re so easy baby,” he teases. George growls deep in his throat and starts to suck a bruise into Alex’s neck. Alex whimpers and presses back against George, grinding on him. George lets his hands fall to Alex’s hips and they stand there grinding on each other like a couple of teenagers in a club. George is panting against Alex’s neck, and he’s so hard in his pants that it’s painful. 

“Take your clothes off,” George says in Alex’s ear, his voice low and commanding. Alex immediately pulls out of George’s arms and begins to undress himself, wagging his hips at George and looking up through his lashes. 

Alex shucks his pants and stands there naked, his cock bobbing against his stomach. George’s mouth goes completely dry and he licks his lips. Alex smirks and saunters over to George. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he croons as he starts to undress George. He pushes George’s pants and boxers down last, and George steps out of them, shivering as he watches Alex’s eyes rake over his naked body. 

Alex pulls George into a bruising kiss and starts walking, backing him up until his back hits the wall. George’s head falls back against the wall with a thunk as Alex drops to his knees. 

“Alex,” George warns, his voice choking off into a strangled groan when Alex wraps his lips around George’s cock. “Alex,” George gasps again, clenching his fists and shuddering. “I’m not gonna last. You can’t—” George cuts himself off and has to bite down on his fist to keep himself from shouting when Alex sucks one of George’s balls into his mouth. 

Then Alex licks a long stripe up the underside of George’s cock and kisses the tip almost daintily, letting his tongue dart out to lap up some of the pre-come leaking out. 

“Fine, I’ll stop,” Alex says with a smirk. He briefly sucks on the skin of George’s inner thigh before pulling himself to his feet. He kisses George, and George can taste himself on Alex’s tongue. 

“Thank you,” George gasps. “I need to get the lube and a condom,” he whispers. 

Alex shakes his head. “No time.” George’s eyes widen as Alex grabs one of George’s hands and sucks on his fingers and licks George’s palm, properly wetting George’s hand. George grabs Alex’s arms and pulls him over to the desk. 

“Bend over baby,” he murmurs. Alex obediently turns around and leans against the desk, sticking his ass up. George grins darkly and starts to tease Alex’s hole with one of his fingers. 

“George,” he whines, whimpering. “Come on baby.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you, love.” 

George slowly pushes his finger in, easily adding another immediately after—Alex is still loose from this morning. “You’re so beautiful,” George murmurs as he adds a third finger, forming a triangle with his fingers. He slowly pushes them in and out, carefully stretching Alex. Alex groans in frustration and pushes back, trying to fuck himself on George’s fingers. 

“ _George_ , I need you. Stop teasing.” 

George pulls his fingers out and nudges Alex to turn around. “Back against the wall.” Alex nods and practically runs over to the wall. George grins and hoists Alex into his arms. Alex’s legs reflexively wrap around George’s waist, and George pauses to kiss Alex gently. “Are you sure you don’t want to use a condom.”

“We’ve both been checked recently and we’re in a monogamous relationship. I think it’s okay.” 

George nods and helps ease Alex onto his cock, letting gravity do most of the work. As soon as he bottoms out, he pulls back out and sets a leisurely pace, bracing Alex against the wall. Alex moans and drops his head onto George’s shoulder, sinking his teeth into George’s skin. 

“I love you Alex,” George says as he pushes into Alex, hitting him in just the right spot as Alex makes a high, keening noise. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

“I love you too,” he whimpers.

George’s arms are starting to get tired, so he makes sure Alex is secure and steps away from the wall, walking them over to the couch that sits against one of the other walls. Alex practically squeals and locks his arms around George’s neck.

“Don’t drop me!”

“I won’t,” George murmurs. 

Alex’s whole body is tense as George’s cock thrusts up into him with each step. When George reaches the couch, he carefully lays them out and immediately begins to thrust quickly, the need building in his stomach. He can feel that his balls are tight and bunched, and he knows he’s close. 

George grabs onto Alex’s neglected, leaking cock and starts to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Alex digs his nails into George’s back and thrashes his head side-to-side. 

“George, baby, I want to feel you come inside me. Come on, you’ve lasted long enough.” 

At Alex’s words, George’s hips twitch as he comes hard, spilling into Alex. He continues to stroke Alex the best he can as his orgasm pulses and his bones start turning to jelly. 

A few seconds later, Alex comes, coating their stomachs with his sticky, hot come. George collapses down on top of Alex and they breathe in tandem, their hearts beating against each other. 

“I love you so much,” George says before kissing Alex gently. 

“I love you too, George.” Alex wraps his arms around George’s waist and holds him tightly. 

George lets his eyes fall closed and he dozes off cocooned in the warmth of Alex’s arms, one of his favorite places to be. 

\---

An hour and a half later, George politely notifies Betsy that he’s ready to get back on schedule. He has an uneventful cabinet meeting, a quick appearance at the Smithsonian to commemorate some new artifact that he didn’t really take the time to learn about, and a ribbon cutting ceremony at the new African history museum. 

When he gets back to the White House, it’s almost dinner time, so he heads up to the Residence. He invited Alex to join him for dinner in the Residence tonight, but as the clock hits seven, Alex hasn’t even texted him to let him know he’s still coming. George frowns and calls him; he probably got distracted and is still working. Alex picks up at the very last moment, and George can hear people talking in the background. 

“Hello?” Alex asks loudly as if he’s trying to shout over something. His voice sounds odd, and George shifts his weight nervously.

“Alex?” he asks, frowning. “Are you not coming to dinner?” 

“Oh, shit. I totally forgot. Uh, look, an old friend of mine just got back from working in Niger for a couple of years with the Red Cross, so I’m catching up with him.”

“Wow, yeah, it’s no problem. I didn’t know you had a friend who worked for the Red Cross,” George says, the surprise clear in his voice.

“Doesn’t come up in conversation much,” Alex says dismissively. George hears loud laughter in the background and the phone rustles as Alex says something away from the microphone. George swallows, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach.

“Alex?”

“Hmm? Oh, right. Sorry,” Alex says, his words starting to slur. George realizes that Alex’s voice sounds weird because he’s drunk. “So, a raincheck is okay?”

“Yeah, enjoy your time with…”

“John Laurens.” 

The line goes dead, and George tosses his phone onto the bed. Suddenly, dinner doesn’t sound very appealing, and George crawls into bed instead. Maybe he can get some work done editing those speeches Mulligan wrote for him. George opens the first one up and tries to quell the uncomfortable anxiety tying his stomach up in knots. 

Alex is blowing George off for dinner with John Laurens—a mysterious friend he's never mentioned before. 

This is fine… 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah that foreshadowing though! Hope you enjoyed. Comments are always appreciated!


	2. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I literally posted the first chapter like less than 12 hours ago, but I just wrote the second chapter and am too excited to wait. Y'all are all about to HATE ME, but I promise everything is going to work out okay!! You gotta hang with me!

Alex is busy talking to Senator Schuyler when his private cellphone rings. When he sees John Laurens’ name, he almost drops his office phone. 

“Senator? I’m sorry but I need to go. I’m getting a call on another line.” 

Alex hangs up before the senator can say anything. He scrambles to answer his cellphone, holding his breath. 

“John?” he breathes hesitantly, half expecting this to be some kind of joke. 

“Alexander,” John replies in his slight, Southern lilt. 

Alex swallows and licks his lips. He’s clutching his phone so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “Are you back? From Niger? I thought you weren’t due back for at least another year?” Alex says breathlessly. John chuckles. 

“You’ve been keeping track of how long I’ve been gone?” he asks amusedly. Alex’s face heats up and he goes to defend himself when John laughs. “I’m joking with you, Alex. I decided to come home early.”

“Are you in South Carolina?” 

“I’m in Washington actually. I’m visiting my dad.” 

Alex is confused until he remembers that John’s dad works in the Pentagon. Alex takes a slow breath to try to calm the erratic beating of his heart. “Well do you, would you want to get a drink?” 

“I’d love to. How about Benjamin’s Bar and Lounge in the Trump Hotel lobby? My dad and I went for drinks there last night and it was great.” 

Alex balks at the suggestion, knowing full well that he couldn’t afford a thing on the menu. “I don’t know. I know some good places that might be a little more… low key.” 

John makes a humming noise. “Yeah alright. I’ll meet you at the White House gate at six?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” Alex says. John hangs up and Alex shakily puts his phone down. He hasn’t thought about John Laurens in a long, long time. 

Alex checks the time and jumps up. It’s already nearing six. He heads to the bathroom to try to fix his hair and make sure he looks okay. He grimaces when he sees the dark bags under his eyes, but figures that it wouldn’t be something John hasn’t seen on him before. 

He shivers as he thinks about the long nights they spent curled up together in their shit-hole apartment in New York. They would drink and smoke all night, writing entire papers while cross faded and naked in bed. College was a haze of all nighters and endless partying. They’d go to sketchy apartments in East Harlem where big, burly latinos smoked black tar heroin in the bathroom and snorted cocaine off of girls’ stomachs. Alex spent too many nights with his head hanging over the toilet with John beside him, and he spent even more nights cleaning John up after he got confused and couldn’t make it to the bathroom. 

Alex remembers the rough, dirty sex and waking up the morning after to John’s handprint branding his body. Their sex was filthy and intense, always spurred on by a drug cocktail with a side of alcohol. They dabbled in a wide array of drugs: Coke, acid, molly, weed, Vicodin, Ambien. The list went on. 

Their love was all-consuming, a soul-sucking whirlwind. John Laurens was like a tornado—he blew through Alex’s life like an unstoppable force, rendering Alex powerless to stop it. They were young, ambitious, passionate, and they thought that they knew what love was. They thought they had it figured out. John would mark Alex’s body with his teeth and Alex would chant John’s name like a prayer. Their love was something holy. They worshipped each other at the altar. 

Then they grew up and were handed diplomas, pieces of paper that meant nothing and everything at the same time. They both wanted to save the world but had very different ideas about how to do it. John ran off and plunged himself head first into as much pain and suffering as he could. 

John always liked his atmosphere to reflect the hurricane of emotions he felt on the inside. 

Alex was the eye of John’s hurricane until he wasn’t. 

Alex went to Richmond to work for George's campaign. He always liked having something to dedicate himself to.

John was Alex’s dedication until he wasn’t. 

Just like a tornado, John Laurens spun out of his life faster than he came into it, leaving Alex with a pile of bricks and streets filled with litter—the remnants of a love that they always knew had an expiration date. 

When Alex leaves the White House, he doesn’t see John at first. Then he spots him smoking a cigarette, pinching the butt between his thumb and index finger. Alex walks over and shoves his shoulder. John looks startled until he realizes it’s Alex. 

The hug is bone-crushing. 

“Alex, it’s so fucking good to see you,” John says. He smells like stale cigarettes and something sharp and spicy. 

“I’ve missed you, man,” Alex says, his voice muffled by John’s jacket. John pulls out of the hug and grins. 

“So, where are we drinking tonight?”

“There’s this pretty cool nightclub, DC9. I thought that might be fun. There’s live music and dancing.”

“Sounds like your kind of place,” John says, and Alex can’t tell whether or not it’s supposed to be an insult. He chooses to ignore it and instead studies John’s profile as they walk. He’s just as handsome as Alex remembers. His hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and he’s wearing a white button down untucked under a gray blazer with navy slacks. It’s a good look, but then again, John always looked good. 

“So, how was Niger?” Alex asks, needing to fill the silence. John pulls out his pack of cigarettes and offers Alex one. Alex takes it and nods in thanks when John flicks his lighter. It’s a menthol cigarette and the mint is sharp on his tongue. 

“It was alright,” John says after he lights up. The smoke leaves his lips in a winding stream, and Alex is transfixed watching the smoke curl out of his pursed lips. 

“Just alright?” Alex teases. John shrugs noncommittally. 

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, it was sad and stuff. Not really a fun topic of conversation.” 

Alex nods and goes back to smoking his cigarette in silence. 

After he finishes, he explains that it’s sort of a long walk to the club, so John orders them an Uber even though Alex offers to pay. It’s always been that way. John inadvertently bankrolling Alex. 

When the Uber drops them off, they slide out of the car. The pulsing music is loud even outside on the sidewalk. The bouncers check their IDs, and John puts his hand at the small of Alex’s back as they navigate themselves through the sea of bodies. They get to the bar and John orders them each a Moscow Mule and two tequila shots. Alex knows that he shouldn’t do this. He should tell John ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and order a club soda. Maybe have a beer or two. 

Instead, Alex throws back the shots, licking the salt off his hand and biting the lime like a seasoned pro, which, Alex muses, he kind of is. The Moscow Mule is soon gone too, and John orders him another. And another round of shots. And then another.

The room is already starting to spin a little when Alex’s phone rings. He’s leaning against John, giggly and loose from the alcohol. Alcohol always did make their relationship better. 

When Alex hears George’s voice on the phone, he wants to slap himself in the face. They had dinner plans. George sounds so disappointed, but John is whispering in his ear, trying to tug him to the dance floor, and Alex is momentarily distracted by how beautiful John looks with his hair coming out of his bun and his cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. 

He basically hangs up on George, takes another tequila shot, and lets John pull him onto the dance floor. 

Some band that Alex knows he wouldn’t like sober is playing, but he’s drunk enough to enjoy it and lose himself to the thumping bass reverberating and shaking the floor. John’s hands find Alex’s hips, and they fit there so perfectly, just like they always did. Alex shivers as he remembers all the nights like this where John would dig dimples into Alex’s hipbones—finger shaped divots that bruised purple the next morning. 

Alex grinds back against John, suddenly feeling 21 again, back when John was all he needed and the world was limitless. Alex is rutting back against John’s half-hard cock while John sucks bruises into Alex’s neck, marking him, _owning_ him. 

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?” John suddenly whispers in Alex’s ear, biting his earlobe gently and sucking on it. Alex’s breath gets caught in his throat and he swallows. The room is spinning and the music is so loud that it’s drowning out his thoughts. 

“We can go back to my apartment,” Alex hears someone who sounds suspiciously like himself saying. 

He wants to scream at himself, wants to grab himself by the shoulders and tell him to stop, but instead, his feet carry him forward as John guides him with a hand on his back, his touch setting fire to Alex’s back. John’s touch always was like holding a match to a pile of wood. 

Alex steps back and watches himself burn. 

\---

If Alex thought John’s touch was hot before, his mouth on Alex’s naked body is like acid melting through his flesh and bones. 

His apartment is dark, but Alex prefers it like this. That way he doesn’t have to see the wicked glint in John’s eyes as he takes Alex apart piece by piece. Like always, Alex expects that John won’t put him back together after he’s done. 

As they kiss and suck on each other, _devour_ each other, Alex realizes that he has no idea where the walls end and the floor begins. He is caught in a blender, his head fuzzy and his eyes glazed. 

They don’t talk as they land on Alex’s bed, hands fumbling but still managing to find all of the right spots, guided by the ghosts of memories. Alex doesn’t say anything when John’s cock presses against his lips. He just opens his mouth and swallows him down. 

John talks now, praising Alex and chanting a litany of words he doesn’t mean. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Alex. So special. So good for me. I never stopped loving you, Alex. I love you Alex. Your face is what gave me hope in Niger. I love you; I love you; I love you.”

His come is bitter but Alex swallows it down anyway. 

Somewhere, Alex’s phone is ringing, and he tries to tell John to move so Alex can answer, but John’s mouth is hot on his own as he consumes Alex, ravishes him. His kisses are sharp and biting. Nothing like George’s soft, sweet kisses. Where George is tender, John is razor sharp.

_George_. 

“John, stop,” Alex finally manages to say, his voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. 

“What’s wrong baby? Don’t you want me to make you feel good? I love you, Alex.” John starts to place small kisses along Alex’s jaw, but Alex pushes his chest hard enough to send John falling backward. 

“No you don’t. Please stop saying that and just shut the fuck up,” Alex snaps. He rolls off of the bed, clumsily landing on his feet. He waits a second as the world tilts dangerously and his stomach roils. When he can see somewhat straight, he stumbles over to his jeans and digs through his pockets until he gets his phone out. There are several missed calls from George’s private cellphone, and Alex’s stomach sinks. 

John is still laying in his bed, sprawled out and naked, his skin glistening with a mix of their sweat. Alex goes into the bathroom and locks the door. He tries to take a deep breath to calm himself down, but his breaths are starting to come in short pants and his hands are shaking. He turns and glares at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looks disgustingly disheveled: His hair is a knotted mess, his lips are red and swollen, some of John’s cum is smeared on his cheek, and he can already see places where hickeys are going to mar his skin. 

He shakily calls George, pacing the length of his tiny bathroom the best he can. He’s not going to freak out. He’s not going to get George all anxious and worried. He’s just going to calmly explain to George that he’s fine and needs to sober up before they talk. 

“Alex? Are you okay?” George asks breathlessly as soon as he picks up. “You’re obviously drunk, and I didn’t want to bother you, but I wanted to check and make sure everything was okay because you could get in trouble out drunk late at night. Then you weren’t answering so I kept calling. I’m really sorry.” 

Alex is too drunk to try to cut off George’s anxious rambling, so he just lets it wash over him in time with the guilt twisting in his stomach. His stomach roils again and he bites back a sickened groan. 

“Alex? Alex, sweetheart, are you there? Are you okay?”

Alex blinks and swallows. “Yeah sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t hear my phone. I was hanging out with John.”

_Liar_. 

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to badger you. I was just really worried. So you’re okay?”

Alex wants to cry. Here George is worrying about whether or not Alex is safe, probably imagining a bunch of outrageous scenarios and working himself into an anxiety attack, when Alex is just one more bad decision away from fucking his ex-boyfriend. 

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” Focus on George. It’s easier that way. Alex has always been good at helping George. He could never help John. 

George is like a hearth that Alex can come home to; John is an inferno built to keep Alex far away. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” George says. Even though he’s drunk, Alex knows George is lying. 

“Take a Xanax,” Alex says. “You sound anxious.” 

He feels another wave of guilt hit him, twisting in his gut. George is saying something, but Alex isn’t listening. He blinks and tries to tune back in as his stomach continues to churn, a mixture of guilt and too much alcohol. 

“—took the Xanax. Are you sure you’re okay? Don’t forget to drink lots of water sweetheart—”

Alex hastily sets the phone down on the counter and drops to his knees in front of the toilet. He heaves and shudders as he’s sick. He can hear George through the phone, his voice tiny and unintelligible. Alex gropes for the phone and sets it next to him on speaker. 

“Alex,” George says sternly. “Please tell me that you’re okay or I’m sending Tilghman to get you.”

“George, I’m okay. Please don’t send Tilghman,” Alex says wearily. He shakily reaches up to flush the toilet. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? You need to drink some water right now. You’re going to get dehydrated.” 

Alex is about to reply when John knocks on the door. “Hey, Alex, babe. You alright in there?”

Alex’s blood runs cold and he wants to scream, wants to go back in time and beat the shit out of himself so that none of this has a chance to happen. George is silent aside from his quiet breathing that’s steadily getting heavier. 

“Alex, I’m gonna kick this door in if you don’t at least give me some indication that you’re okay. You’re scaring me, baby.” 

“I’m fine,” Alex says loudly, his voice strangled. He barely recognizes it as his own. 

“You sure?”

“John, I’m fine,” Alex shouts. “Please just leave. Please.” 

“Alex,” John says softly, on the edge of pleading. “What’s wrong?”

“Leave!” Alex shouts again. He knows that George is still on the phone, but he can’t decide if it would be better or worse to hang up. George makes the decision for him. 

“Seems like you’ve got everything handled. I’ll let you get back to your evening,” he says tightly, a slight tremor giving away the depth of emotions behind those words. 

“Look, George, it’s not what you think,” Alex says quickly. He feels so tired, so beaten down. He’s never been able to control his impulses. 

“I don’t—” George sucks in a sharp breath, and Alex realizes that he’s crying. “It sounded a lot like what I think. I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t know if I can right now.” George takes a deep breath, the sound whooshing in Alex’s ear. “Take the day off tomorrow if you’re too hungover and want to spend more time with John,” he spits before hanging up. 

Alex gets up unsteadily and leaves the bathroom. He’s surprised to find that John actually did leave; John never was one to take commands. 

As he drags himself into the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, he pictures himself walking along a bridge, fire licking at his heels as it burns down behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I SUCK. I love John, so it made me sad to have to write him like this, but I needed it to be that way. The dichotomy between the two relationships in Alex's life is important. But srsly don't worry... everything will be okay!! 
> 
> Also sorry that these chapters have been a bit shorter than my usual. 
> 
> Even though I'm evil, I hope everyone still enjoyed it fml. This is honestly some of my favorite writing that I've done for this series. Comments always appreciated (even though I'm the worst)


	3. Standing at the Edge of the Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a doozy. I'm so sorry omg. I just added a self-harm tag, which applies to this chapter. Sorry y'all, but it's gotta get worse before it gets better.

“I should’ve known better, right? I should’ve known,” George slurs as he clumsily walks back and forth along the length of the Truman Balcony. A bottle of whiskey dangles from his hand and he periodically brings it up to his lips and tips his head back. The alcohol is smooth, but it still burns on the way down. George laughs and stumbles over to the couch, plopping down unceremoniously. “I really should’ve known. No one gets two great loves. That wouldn’t be fair. I mean, I already lost you. Makes sense that I would lose Alex too.” George hiccups and rubs his eyes angrily. “I just… I don’t understand why he did this. We were fine this morning. Everything was great. Why would he do this to me?”

George tips the bottle up and takes another pull, the alcohol burning his chest and stomach. He feels pathetic, like some heartbroken teenage girl, but the alcohol is numbing some of his shame. 

“Maybe I should’ve seen this coming. I mean, I’m 10 years older than him and being president isn’t doing anything to help me with aging. The stupid lines around my eyes are getting worse and I look exhausted all the time. The bags under my eyes really aren’t a good look for me. Maybe the age thing is getting weird for him now. I’ll be 37 in February. Of course, he’s turning 27 in January, but still. I’m getting closer and closer to 40, which just sounds old and depressing.” George sighs and shakily runs his fingers through his hair, raking his fingers through his curls. “Maybe he wants to be with someone younger. Sometimes it’s hard for me to get it back up when he wakes me up in the middle of the night. I just don’t know what to do. I trusted him,” George says, biting down on his fist to stifle a sob. 

It’s almost three in the morning, so George is surprised when his private cellphone starts ringing. It’s Lafayette, and George contemplates not answering but he knows that would only make Lafayette worry more. He takes a deep breath to try to stop the sobs he can feel in his chest.

“Yes?” he asks, trying to sound as sober as possible. 

“Are you okay?” 

Those were the same words George said to Alex earlier. A hysterical laugh bubbles up in George’s chest and he snorts. 

“Honestly? No I’m not,” George says before he can stop himself. 

Alcohol always made George honest. 

“Alex called me,” Lafayette says softly, his tone apologetic. 

“Awesome,” George says sarcastically. 

Alcohol also made him mean sometimes. 

Lafayette sighs. “George, he told me what happened. I’m so sorry. He’s really upset about it.”

“Don’t,” George snaps. “Please don’t tell me how bad he feels. I can’t do that right now. I can’t sympathize and listen to his side of the story.”

“George—”

“I said don’t,” George shouts. “Please. I can’t do this right now. I just want to drink until I blackout and pretend to be sick tomorrow so I don’t have to get out of my bed. Is that too much to ask?” 

“I think you should call Dr. Man tomorrow.” 

“I’m not calling my psychiatrist to complain about the fact that my somewhat secret boyfriend cheated on me with some friend I’ve never even fucking heard of until now.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“What? You think I’m gonna hurt myself or something?” George taunts. 

“You hurt yourself after Martha died,” Lafayette says softly. 

“That was one fucking night,” George growls. “It was one bad night.”

“This is also a bad night.”

“Gilbert, just because I’m upset doesn’t mean I’m suicidal. If I didn’t kill myself after Martha died, then I think I can handle this.”

“George, drink some water, take some Advil and a couple Pepto-Bismol, and go to sleep. I’ll come check on you in the morning and then tell everyone you’ve got a bad migraine and can’t leave the Residence.” 

George sighs and rubs his face. “Is he okay?” he asks softly, taking a large sip of the alcohol, grimacing and nearly gagging. 

“He was kind of freaking out, but I helped him calm down and got him to bed. I told him to call me if anything happens.”

“Did he tell you who John Laurens is?” George chews his lip nervously, biting down hard enough to taste blood. 

“They dated for the four years they were at Columbia together.”

George feels sick, and he leans over with his elbows on his thighs, hanging his head and taking a few deep breaths. 

“I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Wait, George,” Lafayette says quickly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know. I need to go to sleep.”

George hangs up and sets the bottle of whiskey—which is alarmingly close to being empty—down on the table. He drags himself inside and goes into his bathroom. He mechanically fills up a glass of water and finds his Advil, going through the motions almost subconsciously. He roots around until he finds the bottle of Pepto-Bismol and pops two of the pink pills in his mouth, swallowing them down with two Advil. He shudders but manages to drink the entire glass of water. 

He briefly stops and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks haggard and pale; his eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red with the glassy look he always gets when he’s drunk. “I haven’t looked this bad since my wife died,” George tells his reflection. “I haven’t hurt this badly since my wife died. Is it bad that this hurts almost as much? Is that fucked up?” George watches his reflection, wishing it would somehow give him the answers he’ll never have. 

Lafayette’s words echo in his mind and George suddenly feels woozy. He stumbles backward to sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

_“You hurt yourself after Martha died.”_

He remembers it so clearly, like the memory is burned into his brain. Sometimes he wishes the bullet that hit his brain did wipe away his memories. Then there would be no more ghosts to haunt George; there would be no more memories that have the power to bring George to his knees. 

It was a couple of days after Martha died, right before the funeral. He felt delirious, a frantic anxiety that made his chest burn and his hands shake. His mind was so fuzzy; it was like his brain was replaced with a mass of cotton balls. He needed it to stop, needed to cut through the haze. 

He occasionally did it when he was a teenager, usually after his father got drunk and spit in his face, slapping George hard enough that he tasted blood on his tongue, or when his mother shouted at him, tearing George apart piece by piece. Parents hold so much power in their hands; they have the ability to destroy their child with a single sentence. They know all of their children’s weaknesses.

George remembered how it numbed the pain, and everything was so foggy and disorienting that he barely registered what he was doing as he reached for his razor. 

The blood was bright red and there was so much of it. It dripped down his arms and made Rorschach inkblots on the white tile. It stained his clothes, soaking the thin material of his favorite pair of sweatpants. Martha bought them for him. 

The metallic smell of blood was nauseating. 

George felt lightheaded and confused, and the pain in his arm pulsed in time with his heartbeat. 

He heard a scream and realized it was his own. He swallowed and his throat felt painfully raw.

Lafayette and Adrienne slammed the door open, and Adrienne shouted something. They moved so quickly that George could barely keep up. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, but Lafayette was tapping his cheek and saying something to him that George couldn’t understand. Adrienne was holding a rag to his arm; her mouth was moving, but George had no idea if she was talking to him or not. 

He somehow ended up at their kitchen table. They handed him water and a plate with a sliced banana and handful of assorted nuts. 

“You have to eat this,” Lafayette said firmly. “Or we’re taking you to the hospital.”

George hated hospitals. 

He ate the food, tried to ignore how sick it made him feel. 

Lafayette looked at him differently after that night.

George shakes his head and stands up, his legs wobbly. He holds his arms out to regain his balance. His razor is sitting on the counter, enticing him like a Siren call. 

He summons all of his personal strength, manages to scrounge up the remnants of his willpower and leaves the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. He's not going to self destruct again. He's better than that.

His bed feels too big, woefully empty without Alex’s warm body beside him. George squeezes his eyes shut. He won’t let Alex break him. He can’t let Alex break him. 

George takes an Ambien and tries not to think about the ghost of Alex’s arms around him, the warmth that would to seep through his clothes, silent, physical markings of Alex’s love.

Alex was like a hearth George could go home to. 

But now the flames are extinguished and George shivers in the cold. 

\---

George sleeps all day. 

Lafayette came by at one point to check on him, but the memory is hazy. 

When he wakes up, he’s disoriented and a little panicked until he calms down and remembers where he is and what’s happening. The clock on his bedside table informs him that it’s almost 7 at night. He slept for 13 hours. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he sits up and rubs his face. He feels disgusting: His face is greasy and he can smell the sweat on his body.

He turns the lamp on and winces as his eyes adjust to the light. His phone is plugged into the charger—Lafayette must have done that for him—and he grabs it. The breath catches in his throat when he sees the notifications. A dozen missed calls and texts from Alex. George takes a deep breath and swipes the first text open. The screen is filled with gray bubbles, one after the other. George remembers Alex lecturing him on the lameness of double texting. That rule must not apply to situations like this one.

_George I really need to talk to you. Please answer your phone._

_I can’t apologize to you over text. Please call me._

_Ok I can apologize over text, but I still need you to call me. I’m so sorry, George._

_Please let me explain what happened. I wasn’t thinking straight._

_George I love you._

_I can’t lose you. Please just hear me out._

_Are you ok? I understand if you’re ignoring me, but you’re scaring me. Can you at least tell me that you’re safe?_

_Lafayette said you’re asleep. Can you please call me when you wake up?_

_It wasn’t what it sounded like George. I swear to God. Please let me explain._

_It’s ok if you hate me, but I would like a chance to tell you what happened first. Please._

_George please._

_I love you so much._

_I never wanted to hurt you. I know I fucked up, but it was a mistake. I promise that I never wanted to be the one to hurt you._

_I’m sorry for ruining us._

George takes a slow breath. Then he takes another. And another. 

His hands shake as he calls Alex. 

“George?” Alex says breathlessly. It sounds like he’s been crying.

“Yes.” George’s voice is surprisingly stable. He hears Alex swallow.

“George, listen, can we please talk about this?” 

“I’d rather do this in person.” He wants to see Alex’s face. 

“Can I… Would it be okay if I came to the White House now?” Alex asks meekly. Alex doesn’t normally sound so hesitant. It sounds unnatural.

“Yes.” It’s all George can manage to say.

“Thank you,” Alex breathes, the relief clear in his voice. 

George hangs up and slowly walks into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and undresses slowly. He stands in front of the mirror and studies his body. His arms are toned, as is his broad chest. His stomach has acquired a bit of a soft pudge, but he presses on it and easily feels the hard muscles beneath it. His thighs are thick and well toned but still relatively trim. He presses on his stomach again and pokes the equally soft pudge at his sides. Maybe Alex doesn’t like that his abs aren’t as toned as they could be. 

He shakes his head and gets in the shower, letting the water pound into his back. He scrubs himself clean two times, rubbing the grime from his body. 

When he finishes, he wraps himself in a towel and dries himself off. He dresses comfortably in a pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt. His hands shake as he ties the draw string on his pants. 

The knock on the door startles him and icy anxiety shoots through his body. He walks slowly to the door, touching the knob lightly like there’s a fire raging behind the door, ready to consume him in its red-hot tendrils, choking him with its thick smoke. 

George opens the door slowly, cringing back a little. It’s only Alex on the other side, but Alex has charred his heart, roasting it on a spit over an open flame, so maybe the fire is there after all. 

George steps back so Alex can come in. He hovers uncertainly in the middle of the room, his eyes tracking George’s movements as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

“George, I’m so sorry,” he finally says softly. “John… He always brought out the worst in me.”

“Who is he?” George asks gruffly, his voice pitched low. He needs to hear it from Alex.

“We dated while we were at Columbia. It was… I thought I loved him, but it wasn’t—what we had was dangerous. I felt like I was always dancing around the abyss, two steps away from letting it swallow me whole.” 

“Why did you break up?” 

George doesn’t know why he’s asking, why he wants to know. 

“We wanted different things; the appeal of what we had wore off. I was ready to grow up. I didn’t want to spend my whole life stoned and covered in John’s handprints—”

“Did he hurt you?” George asks sharply, anger flaring in his chest. Alex shakes his head quickly. 

“No, no. It wasn’t like that. I mean, looking back on it, he was very emotionally manipulative, but he never physically abused me. We were just… rough with each other.” He pauses. “In bed.”

George cringes and looks away from Alex, unable to meet his eyes. “Why did you see him last night?” he asks quietly. 

“I—” Alex cuts himself off and takes a deep, sighing breath. “I don’t know. It all felt so wrong, but it’s like I couldn’t stop myself. I just kept following after him. Then we got so fucking drunk. He kept buying me drinks and encouraging me to drink. It was all so confusing. It’s like one second we were at the club and then we were at my apartment.” 

“What did you do with him?” George finally looks Alex in the eyes again, giving him a sharp look. Alex withers under George’s gaze and his shoulders sag. 

“We were making out and then suddenly his…” Alex trails off and bites his lip, looking away. 

“What did you do with him?” George shouts, unable to hold back the anger burning low in his stomach. Alex flinches and stares at the ground. 

“He put his cock against my mouth and I just sucked it without even really thinking about it?”

“Was it consensual?” George asks, a hint of concern bleeding into his voice. He wants to wring John Laurens’ neck. 

“I mean, yeah. There wasn’t really verbal communication, but yeah. He didn’t force me to do it. I did it willingly.”

George tries to keep his expression neutral but Alex’s words hit him like a semi-truck and tears burn in his eyes. 

“Did you even think about me?” George asks, his voice strangled as he tries to hold back tears. Alex winces and nervously shifts his weight. 

“I stopped him before he could fuck me. I did think about you. I’m so fucking sorry, George,” Alex whispers, his own voice thick with emotions. 

“Do you still love him?”

“Not like I love you. I don’t think you ever stop loving people, but I don’t _love_ John. He was just, he was my entire world for four years. That’s a long time to spend intertwined with another person. He’ll always be a part of my life.” 

“Am I not good enough for you?” George asks, his breath hitching as he starts to lose his composure. Alex looks up at George and his eyes widen. He shakes his head fervently. 

“George, no. Not at all. I love you. You’re everything to me. You are more than I deserve. I told you when we first started this that I wasn’t a good person. I’ve done awful things, George. I’ve tried to leave that part of my life behind, but I guess seeing John just brought it all back.”

George nods and quickly wipes at his eyes. “If I hadn’t caught you, would you have told me?” 

Alex falters, guilt clear on his face. 

George can feel the anger building back up, burning in his veins. “Were you going to lie to me?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. Alex hunches his shoulders, subconsciously trying to make himself smaller. 

“Honestly? I don’t know.” 

George’s whole body starts to shake with the force of his anger, and he gets up from the bed. He paces, turning his back to Alex. “You were going to lie to me?”

“George,” Alex pleads. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Because you got caught!” George shouts, turning sharply and stalking up to Alex. “I can’t believe you would do something like this and then lie to me. Do you have any respect for me? For our relationship?”

“George,” Alex whispers, shrinking away from him as George pulls himself to his full height, towering over Alex. 

“You know, I was going to forgive you. I was going to let you back in. I was going to let you regain my trust because I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. I was drowning until I met you, and you pulled me out of the water and taught me how to breathe again. But knowing that you were going to _lie_ to my face about what you did? First you betray my trust, then you plan on pretending like nothing happened? That’s…” George trails off and chuckles harshly. “How fucking stupid do you think I am? Do you think I wasn’t going to notice the hickeys covering your neck? I may not be as smart as you, Alex, but I’m not stupid.”

“No, George, I don’t think you’re stupid. I was just, I wasn’t thinking straight. I would never do this sober when my mind would be clear.” 

“I don’t know if I believe you.” 

“George, _please_ ,” Alex begs, tears falling down his cheeks. George aches to reach out and wipe them away, but his chest is tight and he can barely stand to look at Alex, knowing he would cheat and then try to lie about it. George shakes his head and turns away, walking across the room to put some distance between them. 

“I’d like you to leave,” George says softly, his voice shaky as a few tears fall and race themselves down his cheeks. 

“Are you, am I—”

“You’re not fired. You’re still my senior advisor, but that’s it.”

“George, no, please baby—”

“Don’t call me that!” George shouts and turns back around. “You lost that right the moment you let him kiss you. I don’t trust you, I _can’t_ trust you right now, so I think it’s best if we take a break. At least for right now.” 

The words are like knives twisting into George’s chest. They drip off his tongue and burn like acid.

“Will you let me make it up to you?” Alex asks as he starts to cry harder, choking on a sob. 

“Maybe eventually, but not right now. I can’t, I need time. You _hurt me,_ Alex. Can’t you see that? You betrayed me. It’s not enough that you love me if you don’t act like it.” 

Alex sobs again, and George’s composure crumbles as his own sob escapes. His breathing hitches and he sniffs loudly. 

“I hope you do let me make it up to you, because I need you George. I don’t know if I can live without you.”

“I know,” George says brokenly. It feels like a chasm is opening up under his feet and he’s being pushed closer and closer to the edge. 

George is perched on a precipice, and the abyss is waiting to swallow him whole. 

Alex walks away, leaving a trail of scorched earth behind him. 

The precipice crumbles and the abyss welcomes George home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. Feel free to yell at me in the comments. I deserve it. I promise next chapter (should maybe) be better.


	4. Operation Stubborn Idiots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than the others; it was hard to write for some reason, so my bad if it's not quite as good as the others. Hopefully this will give everyone a little hope!

Three weeks after what Alex decided to dub ‘The Incident,’ Angelica is waiting for him in his office. He sighs and walks past her to sit down in his desk chair. He busies himself with unpacking his bag and logging onto his computer. He can feel Angelica’s eyes on him, and he tries his best to ignore her.

“Alex,” she finally says. Alex hums in acknowledgement but keeps his eyes on his computer as he opens up his email. “Alex!” Angelica snaps. He startles and looks at her, withering under her piercing gaze. 

“Yes?” he asks tiredly. 

“What the fuck did you do to the president?” 

Alex winces and immediately clenches his fists, glaring at Angelica. “That’s none of your business,” he says sharply. 

“I think it is,” she says evenly. “You two aren’t talking to each other; he’s distracted in his meetings—I had to repeat a question three times before he gave me some half-assed answer; and he’s obviously depressed as hell. I just had a meeting with him about the education initiative and he was drinking bourbon. At eight in the morning. That’s not healthy, and it’s not like the president at all.”

Alex squeezes his fists so tightly that his nails dig crescents into his palms. Angelica just continues to look at him, her eyebrows raised. Alex blows out a frustrated breath of air. His heart his hammering in his chest. He’s never liked being accused, even if it’s his fault. 

“I cheated on him, okay?” he says sharply, banging his fist on his desk. “I cheated on him with my college boyfriend and planned on lying to him about it until he found out shortly after it happened. I destroyed him and every bit of progress he’s made over the past year.” Alex sucks in a sharp breath. “You happy now?”

Angelica just stares at him, momentarily taken aback. She carefully wipes the surprise off of her face and takes a deep breath. 

“You’re coming over for dinner tonight,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“Angelica,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why? So you can chew me out?”

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes. “So you can tell me the whole story and I can help you figure out how to fix this. The president is miserable, and it makes everyone’s jobs a lot harder and a lot less fun. He’s pissy and sad, which is really starting to piss me off. Plus, you’re my friend and I don’t like seeing you so unhappy, because you’re obviously miserable too.”

Alex sighs, resigned to the fact that Angelica isn’t taking no for an answer. “Alright, fine. I’ll come over for dinner.”

“Good. We’ll leave at 6:30. Meet me at my office.” 

“Thanks, Angelica.” He offers her a tired smile, and she just nods, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. 

“What would you do without me here to clean up your messes?” 

Alex rolls his eyes as Angelica smirks and leaves his office, high heels clicking on the tiled floor. 

Alex rubs his eyes and goes back to checking his emails, longingly looking at the picture of George and him he has sitting on his desk. It was on the campaign trail, the night of Super Tuesday after they got the news that Adams was dropping out. George’s arms are wrapped around Alex, one hand curling around Alex’s bicep and the other resting on his chest. Alex has one of his arms wrapped around George’s waist, and they’re both smiling, eyes trained on something just past the camera. Shortly after his inauguration, George gave Alex the photo in a simple, dark wooden frame. Out of the gifts George has given him, this picture is one of Alex’s favorites. 

Alex angrily rubs his eyes and sniffs. He doesn’t deserve to mourn his loss. He brought it upon himself, pouring the gasoline on his bridge and lighting the match that burned it. He is the one who took George’s heart and broke it, scattering the thousands of tiny pieces at his feet. 

Ever since he was a boy, he’s considered humans to be weak, hampered by their emotions, destined to be destroyed by love and loss. He’s worked his whole life to make sure he never bent or broke, never let the weight of his losses crush him under their colossal weight. Alex wonders how much loss one person can take before it ruins them. 

He thinks he knows what his own threshold is.

But he wonders what George’s is. How much more does George have to lose before it does him in? He survived the loss of one love, but Alex has no idea if he can survive another. Alex hoped that he would never have to find that out.

\---

When he walks inside, Alex is amused to find that Angelica’s apartment is exactly like he imagined it would be: Simple and well decorated in soft blues and whites. It’s a bright, open space and smells like something light and floral. 

“I like your apartment,” Alex murmurs as he follows her into the kitchen. It’s an open floorpan with the kitchen connecting to the main room. He sits at the small breakfast bar as Angelica opens up her freezer. 

“Thanks. How do you feel about oven pizza? I’ve got a cheese and a pepperoni.”

“Cheese is good.” 

Angelica nods and turns on the oven, pre-heating it and setting the pizza box on the counter to check the instructions. 

“You want some wine? I’ve got a few reds and whites, whichever your prefer.”

“White wine would be nice,” Alex says. Angelica nods and ducks down to pull a couple of bottles out of her wine rack. 

“Is pinot grigio okay? It tastes good with pizza.” 

Alex nods and accepts the glass she hands him. She pours herself a glass of dolcetto. Alex smirks and chuckles you. 

“You’re such a red wine person.”

She turns and quirks an eyebrow, pursing her lipstick-red lips. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

“Red wine is just… sophisticated, and you’re very sophisticated.” 

Angelica blushes a little and rolls her eyes to cover it up. “Oh shut up,” she mutters, unable to mask the hint of a smile on her face. She turns around and puts the pizza in the oven. “That’ll be ready in about 20 minutes. Lets go sit on the couch.”

Alex nods and follows her into the living room, taking a small sip of his wine. She toes her heels off and tucks her legs underneath herself. Alex sits beside her and puts his feet up on the ottoman. 

“So, are you going to grill me with your incessant questions before or after we eat?”

“Both,” Angelica says, punctuating her sentence with a sip of wine. “Spill, Hamilton.”

So Alex tells her the entire story, starting with John’s phone call. He pauses briefly while she gets the pizza and brings him a couple of slices, but she orders him to continue as they eat. She keeps her eyes on him the whole time, but Alex has to look away from her, feeling impossibly small under her sharp gaze. 

When he finally finishes, Angelica is silent. She grabs his wine glass and goes into the kitchen. He can hear the wine splashing into the glasses as she pours them each a refill. He takes the offered glass obediently and tips his head back. Angelica sits back down and studies his face. He finally manages to look at her, but her expression is unreadable. 

“Well?” he says softly. “Do you hate me now? Think I’m a horrible, shitty person?”

“No. I think you made a horrible mistake, and I think that this was absolutely non-consensual.” 

Alex shakes his head quickly. “John didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“But there wasn’t any verbal consent. No verbal consent means no consent, Alex. You should know that.” 

“So you’re saying John what? Sexually assaulted me?” Alex asks sarcastically, shaking his head. “He didn’t coerce me.”

“But you’ll admit that you wouldn’t do that sober. You were _drunk_ , Alex. There’s no way you could consent. That’s sexual assault.” 

Alex cringes and drops his head down to stare at his wine. It seems to sparkle in the soft lighting. “That doesn’t excuse what I did. I still cheated on George and I still planned on lying to him. I honestly think the lying was what bothered him the most. That really upset him.”

“George values honesty; you know that.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Alex asks exasperatedly, looking up at Angelica. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He’s made that _very_ clear.”

“Give him a little more time, but try reaching out to him. It can be subtle. Say hi to him in the morning, do some unsolicited favors for him—just little things he would appreciate.”

Alex exhales and nods. “What if he’s never ready to talk?” he asks softly, hating the pathetic yearning in his voice. 

“He will be,” Angelica says confidently. “If I know anything about the president, it’s that he doesn’t seem to hold grudges. He’s a forgiving man.”

“Except when it comes to John Adams,” Alex quips, diffusing some of the tension. Angelica cracks a smile and reaches over to shove Alex’s shoulder. 

“There’s the Alex I know. I believe in you, and I know that you can fix this. You made a horrible mistake, but you’re not a bad person.”

Alex momentarily gets choked up and takes a sip of his wine to cover it up. He nods and smiles thankfully. “Thank you Angelica. I really needed this.”

“I know,” she smirks. “I told you that I know everything, Hamilton.” 

Alex laughs and relaxes into the couch, allowing himself to get his hopes up for the first time since ‘The Incident.’ 

With the proper care and tools, maybe Alex can put George back together again after all. 

*******

“It’s been three weeks, George,” Lafayette says evenly, tracking George’s movements with his eyes. George is currently forcing himself to eat a bowl of soup even though he has absolutely no appetite. He sighs and pushes his chair back, getting up to pour himself a fresh glass of bourbon. He can feel Lafayette’s eyes burning into the back of his head, judging him, piercing his skin and staring straight into his soul, picking him apart one cell at a time. 

“Will you quit looking at me?” he snaps, turning around to glare at Lafayette. 

“No. Now eat your fucking soup.” 

“I’m not hungry.” George sits back down and takes a sip of his bourbon, relishing the way the amber liquid burns his throat on the way down. 

“I know you’re not. Does it look like I care? Put down the damn bourbon and _eat_.” 

George tightens his jaw and picks up his spoon, halfheartedly spooning some of the soup into his mouth. It tastes like ash on his tongue and slithers down his throat to settle uncomfortably in his stomach. His appetite is always the first thing to go. 

“I don’t understand why you think you need to hover around me. It’s irritating.” 

“I. Don’t. Care,” Lafayette says, enunciating each word carefully. “I’m not going to sit back and let you self destruct like I did after Martha died. I refuse to let you try to destroy yourself in a load of pathetic, victimized, self-loathing crap.”

“You should watch your mouth,” George snaps.

“Oh fuck off, George. Don’t give me your little ‘I’m the president and you can’t speak to me that way’ speech. I just walked in on you basically passed out on your bed because you haven’t been eating. You’re a big guy, George, and you need to eat so you don’t _die_.” 

George pushes the bowl of soup away and downs the rest of the alcohol. He momentarily holds the intricately designed crystal glass up to the light, watching the way the light filters through it. 

“I’m trying,” George finally says softly, looking over at Lafayette. “But it’s hard. I have to see him every day, and all I want is to hold him and tell him that it’s fine, that I need him back, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know if I can trust him. I don’t want to be with him if I’m constantly worried about whether or not he’s lying to me.” 

“George, listen. You’ve heard the story from Alex. It hardly seems like he was plotting against you. He was _drunk_ , George. And there wasn’t any verbal consent. I don’t think Alex would do this sober.” 

George’s shoulders sag and he stares at his hands. He wishes he wasn’t president so he could hunt John Laurens down and beat the shit out of him, leave him writhing in pain—a physical manifestation of the pain George is feeling on the inside. 

“Do you think Alex is okay?”

“He insists it was consensual, but I think he’s just guilty and doesn’t want to cop out of taking the blame.” 

“I’m more mad that he was going to lie to me.”

“Then tell him that,” Lafayette says exasperatedly. “Just tell him that and talk it out.” 

George drops his head into his hands and groans, trying to push down the anxiety clawing at his throat. It feels like the walls are closing in on him, trapping him in the dark place he’s trying so hard to stay out of. But his fingers are tired from trying to claw himself back over the edge of the cliff and the abyss offers a comforting darkness, an escape. 

“Hey, George,” Lafayette says gently. “Take some deep breaths for me, alright?” Lafayette walks over and rubs George’s back. “C’mon brother, you just have to breathe through it. You’re alright.”

George nods and sucks in a gasping breath, coughing and choking on a sob. “I need to take a Xanax,” he says gruffly, trying to hold back the sobs building in his chest. 

“Alright, you go do that. I’m gonna head home. Get some sleep, George.”

George stands wearily and Lafayette pulls him into a hug. George presses his face into Lafayette’s neck and takes a shaky breath. No matter what’s happening in his life, he knows that Lafayette will always be there for him. They’ve been through thick and thin together. As soon as George met Lafayette freshman year of college, he knew that they would always be together. Lafayette has been George’s brother longer than Lawrence was, and George would step in front of a bullet to protect him without a moment of hesitation. 

Lafayette is George’s anchor. George knows that Lafayette would never burn him, never leave George shattered in ruins. Lafayette is the one constant in George’s life. 

“I love you, brother,” George says softly, sniffing. Lafayette smiles and pats his cheek. 

“I love you too. Just try reaching out to him, okay? If you reach out to him and realize you’re not ready, then that’s fine. But you need to at least try. If you don’t try, you’ll never know.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

Lafayette leaves and George falls asleep thinking about Alex’s smile and the feeling of his hand cool and soothing on George’s cheek. 

*******

Lafayette pulls his phone out as soon as he leaves the White House and calls Angelica. His breath comes out in white puffs in front of him, and he hunches his shoulders against the cold. 

“Hey Laf,” Angelica says when she picks up. 

“How’d it go?” he asks quickly, getting right down to business. 

“It went well. He had no idea that I already knew what happened, and I think I finally talked a little bit of sense into him. How’d it go on your end?”

“It was alright. He got a little upset, but I reigned him back in and convinced him to try reaching out to Alex.” 

Lafayette can practically see the smirk on Angelica’s face. 

“So it seems like Operation Stubborn Idiots was a success.” 

Lafayette laughs, shaking his head. “We’re not calling it Operation Stubborn Idiots.”

“We totally are,” Angelica says. “Nice work, Laf. I knew we could do it.”

“Nothing’s happened yet.”

“It will. I have faith in them.” She pauses and chuckles. “Even though they’re a couple of stubborn idiots.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told y'all everything would start to work out! Also, thank you for all the comments!! Know that even if I don't reply, I still see your message and appreciate it. It's super motivating to see that everyone is enjoying this!


	5. Peace Offerings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I write too fast for my own damn good smh. Also, I'm sorry that these chapters have been a little bit shorter! This chapter should make a lot of people happy! :-)

George wakes up with a start, drenched in sweat from another nightmare. They’re all the same: George is dangling off the side of a cliff and Alex is holding onto his hand, holding him up. George tries to call to Alex, tries to ask him to help pull him up, but George can’t speak. Alex just gives George a blank look, mouths the word ‘sorry,’ and lets go.

He always wakes up right before he hits the ground.

“Dammit,” he mutters when he rolls over to check the time. It’s just after five in the morning. He rolls out of the bed and strips out of his sweaty clothes, dropping them into a pile by his closet door. He walks into the bathroom, sleepily rubbing his eyes as he turns the shower on. 

Alex’s shampoo and conditioner are still sitting on the floor. Throwing them away would feel so final, and George isn’t there yet.

It’s been a week since Lafayette staged his "intervention"—his description, not George’s—and George decided that today would be the day he talked to Alex. He takes a breath and steps into the shower, letting the hot spray pound into his sore muscles. 

“Alright Martha, what should I do?” He asks as he washes his hair. “Maybe I could just do something little… Say hi to him when he walks into the briefing? Just start small and build up to actually having a conversation about what happened. I feel like that would be easiest.” 

George washes his body twice and shuts the shower off, shivering as he steps out of the warm steam. He quickly dries himself off and haphazardly wraps the towel around his waist. There’s a little bit of stubble on his face, but George decides that it’s kind of a good look on him. He saves taking his slew of pills for last: An antidepressant, a mood stabilizer, and a beta-blocker that he takes for his migraines. 

He takes his time getting dressed, suddenly nervous about how he looks. The bags under his eyes are pretty atrocious. He doesn’t know what’s aging him faster, his ex boyfriend or the presidency. 

When he finally leaves the bedroom, Harriet is waiting for him. “Good morning, Mr. President. You’re up early.” 

“Morning Harriet. I thought I’d get an early start this morning,” he says with a shrug.

“How about you go eat breakfast with all this extra time you have. I’ve got a little something for you.” 

George quirks an eyebrow and bites his lip, eyes darting toward the stairs. Harriet purses her lips and gives him a stern look.

“President Washington, go eat some breakfast. I’ve heard Mr. Lafayette getting on to you about not eating with your medicine.”

George blushes and shrinks under her gaze. She reminds him of a grandmother, equal parts stern and caring. Basically, Harriet doesn’t fuck around. 

“Yeah, alright. You’ve got me there.” 

George follows her into the dining room, genuinely smiling when he sees a small wicker basket full of muffins. “Did you bake me muffins?” he asks, chuckling softly.

“There’s that Washington smile,” Harriet teases. “Yes I did bake you muffins. I know you like those mixed berry muffins. There are also some chocolate chip in there too.” Harriet gives him a pointed look and pours his coffee for him.

Alex loves chocolate chip muffins. Harriet’s message is clear: Get your shit together.

He clears his throat and takes one of the muffins out of the basket. He’s not hungry, but he doesn’t want to hurt Harriet’s feelings. Plus, she’s right, taking his medicine without food makes him sick. 

She watches him as he takes a cautious bite of the muffin, scrutinizing him. 

“Look, Harriet—”

“What goes on in that bedroom is no business of mine, Mr. President. I hope you enjoy the muffins. Would you like me to change the sheets this morning?”

George ducks his head and nods. “Yes please.”

Harriet nods and gives him a fond smile. “Have a nice day, Mr. President.”

“You too Harriet,” he says softly. 

George manages to finish the entire muffin and takes the basket back to his room. He’s about to leave for the West Wing when he pauses at the door, turning to stare at the basket sitting on his bedside table. A chocolate chip muffin is perched at the top. 

George goes back and picks it up, cradling it in his palm. 

A peace offering in the form of a muffin.

It’s not quite as noble or poetic as an olive branch, but it’ll have to do. Muffins are more Alex’s style anyway.

When he gets downstairs, he half listens while Betsy goes over his schedule and hands him a copy. He’s still holding the muffin in his hand, and Betsy eyes it. 

“No time for breakfast in the Residence,” he explains with a quick shrug. She doesn’t point out that he’s here an hour early. 

He feels strange going into Alex’s office when he’s not here. Now that George thinks about it, he’s never really been _in_ Alex’s office. People mostly come to George, not the other way around. 

The desk is covered in towering stacks of papers that seem painfully disorganized to George, but he’s sure Alex could tell him exactly what was in each stack if asked. George carefully sets the muffin down and looks around for a sticky note. He hesitates before pulling one of Alex’s desk drawers open, and he quickly roots around before finding a slightly bent stack of Post-It notes. He tears one off and scrawls a quick note. 

_To A. Your favorite! ♥︎ —G_

He almost scratches out the heart but ends up leaving it. He smooths the sticky note down and sets the muffin by it. 

The breath catches in his throat when he notices the framed picture he gave to Alex after the inauguration. 

George bites his lip hard enough to taste blood. Losing Alex was like severing off one of his limbs. He feels useless and incomplete with Alex at his side. His right-hand man. 

George rubs his eyes and stands, needing to get out Alex’s office, away from the space so purely _Alex_ that it’s almost comical. George can easily picture Alex sitting at his desk amongst the flurry of papers typing furiously on his computer and muttering to himself. 

He goes back to the Oval and opens up a speech he needs to edit, trying to keep his mind off of the muffin now sitting on Alex’s desk. 

George made his fist move. 

Now it’s Alex’s turn. 

*******

Alex traces his fingers over the note written in George’s tall, block letters and hesitantly touches the carefully drawn heart with the pad of his index finger. 

The muffin is delicious and Alex eats it greedily. He saves the note, sticking it on the inside cover of his book so it doesn’t get wrinkled. 

Alex gathers some tools and workers and starts to rebuild his bridge. 

When he walks into the Oval for the staff briefing, George smiles at him, and Alex smiles back, a small, closed-mouth smile that he’s always reserved for George. He watches George’s eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile deepens. 

After the meeting, Alex hesitates at the door and glances back at George. 

“Thank you for the muffin, Mr. President,” he says softly. 

He’s out of the door before George can reply. 

\---

On his way home, Alex stops at a CVS and heads to their candy aisle. He scans the shelves, eyes dancing over the bulky bags of mini chocolates. He’s about to leave, annoyed at their lack of quality candy selections, when he spots what he’s looking for. He grins and grabs the biggest bag of gummy bears they have. 

When he gets home, he turns on the news and starts pre-heating the oven so he can cook a grilled cheese. He sits up on the counter and opens up his book— _Anarchy, State, and Utopia_ by Robert Nozick—briefly admiring the note he stuck to the inside of the front cover. He slides off of the counter and carefully sticks the note to the fridge. 

There are several other similar notes, little things George has written down for him over the years. Some of them are notes he stuck on Alex’s speeches back when they first starting working together:

_I’ll sound like a stuck up idiot if I say this. Talking to blue-collar Iowans. This is a corn shit speech, not Harvard dissertation._

 

_I like this passage a lot!_ ☺︎

 

_Are you sure I would say this??_

 

_Sorry but I hate this ¶. Still like you though!_

 

Others are notes George would leave for him on the days that Alex slept over when George had to go to the Oval early:

_Had to go to early morning meeting w/ T. Jeffs. (UGH). Love you so much!! —G_

 

_Srry, running late for (painfully) early meeting w/ Russian Ambass. Out of deodorant & had to use yours… —G_

 

Or notes he would leave on the days he let Alex sleep in:

_Let you sleep since you felt sick last night. Medicine on the counter. pls take 2 & drink water! Love you!! —G_

 

_Late night last night so let you sleep. See you for lunch sweetheart! —G_

 

And occasionally on the campaign trail, George would leave Alex notes hidden in his satchel, stuck on copies of speeches:

_Republicans are red, Democrats are blue_

_T. Jeffs. loves oppressing minorities_

_But I love you!_ _—G_

 

_I missed you last night —G_

 

_Angelica thinks you’re cute. Almost told her to back the fuck off. Wish I could!! —G_

 

_Heard you singing in the shower this morning. Very cute!! —G_

Alex jumps when the oven dings, startling him out of his memories. He reluctantly tears his eyes away from the refrigerator door and quickly slaps some cheese in between his last two pieces of bread. He stands in front of the oven and watches as the cheese bubbles and melts. 

After dinner, Alex changes into one of George’s old Army t-shirts and crawls into bed. He thinks about the bag of gummy bears sitting by his satchel and smiles. 

He’s standing on the shore, overseeing his crew of men as they help him rebuild his bridge. This bridge is going to be too sturdy to burn. 

\---

“Hey Betsy, is the president in yet?” Alex asks, smiling a little flirtatiously. He tried to get to work early enough to beat George to the Oval.

“Not yet. I believe he’s sleeping in this morning. He had a late night meeting with Senator Schuyler.”

_Perfect_. 

“Well, I’ve got something I need to give him. You think it’s okay if I just leave it on his desk?” 

Betsy narrows her eyes, but Alex just bats his eyelashes and smiles even bigger. She seems to melt under his gaze and she nods, smiling a little shyly. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks Betsy; you’re the best,” Alex says with a wink. 

He goes into the Oval and sets the bag of gummy bears on the desk. George has about seven different colored stacks of sticky notes lined up on the desk—he’s such an organized nerd—so Alex peals off a blue one and grabs one of George’s pens. 

_From A. to G. Your favorite ♥︎ Don’t eat them all & get a stomachache! _

Alex sticks the note next to the gummy bears and goes to his office, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

Two can play at this game. 

When they head into the staff briefing, the bag of gummy bears is open sitting near the edge of the desk. Alex and George lock eyes and Alex smirks. George smiles a little shyly. 

They’re both too wrapped up in their silent communication to catch the self-satisfied looks that Angelica and Lafayette give each other. 

When the briefing ends, George’s voice stops Alex. 

“Alex, can you stay back for a second?”

The breath catches in Alex’s throat and he swallows. “Of course, Sir.” He turns slowly and smiles when he sees George quickly shove a handful of gummy bears into his mouth. “You’re gonna give yourself a stomachache,” Alex says teasingly, unable to stop himself from slipping into old habits. Being this close to George, observing him doing something so stupidly _George_ , makes it easy to almost forget everything that happened. It’s almost enough to wipe away the memory of John Laurens’ mouth setting fire to his skin. 

“I know,” George says, groaning dramatically. “I have no self control when it comes to these fucking things.”

“Which is why I got you the biggest bag they had at the store.” 

They both smile at each other, reveling in how good it feels to just be _them_ again. 

But then George looks away and starts to grind his jaw, a nervous tick he has, and Alex’s stomach drops. He nervously shifts his weight, waiting for George to speak first. 

“Alex,” he finally says softly. “I don’t think I’m ready to… let you back in… just yet, but I do want to start trying. To, uh, to let you—”

“I’ll make it up to you, George, and we’ll go at your pace. You know I’ve always been willing to wait for you.” 

“I know,” George says, looking at a spot behind Alex’s head. He picks up his pen and starts to spin it in his fingers, something he does when he’s bored, anxious, or both. 

Alex longs to reach out and smooth away the frown digging lines into the corners of George’s mouth or squeeze the back of his neck in the way he’s always found soothing.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Alex says softly. George sniffs softly and nods. 

“I know you are. I-I need you to know that I’m not mad about what you did. I mean, I _am_ , but I know that it wasn’t completely consensual, so I’m not… I don’t want to hold that over you.”

“It was consensual—”

“Not it wasn’t,” George says angrily. “John Laurens is a son of a bitch who assaulted you; you shouldn’t feel the need to defend him.”

“George, please. It’s fine.”

“It’s not though,” George says tightly. “He violated you, Alex.” George sucks in a sharp breath. “Let me just tell you, he’s lucky that I’m the president. Because if I wasn’t, I would beat the living shit out of him for laying a hand on you. You’re so special, Alex. It hurts me to think that you would let someone treat you badly.”

George gets up from his desk chair and walks around to stand in front of Alex. He towers over him, and Alex cranes his neck up. George’s smell is intoxicating and Alex breathes in deep lungfuls of it. He thought he may never get to be this close to George again. 

“Just because it wasn’t totally consensual doesn’t excuse the fact that I cheated on you.”

“I’m not mad that you—did stuff—with him. I’m mad that you were going to lie. Because I believe you, that you wouldn’t do anything sexual with him sober, but you were going to lie to me sober.”

Alex sighs and nods, staring at the ground. 

The breath catches in his throat when George gently reaches over to tip Alex’s chin up. “Alex,” he says softly. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you, okay? I don’t think I could.”

Alex’s eyes fill with tears and he furiously tries to blink them back. “I love you too,” he says thickly. “I’m going to work so fucking hard to make this up to you, George. I never wanted to hurt you. Thank you,” Alex pauses to take a shaky breath. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” George murmurs. 

Alex stands up on his tiptoes and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to George’s cheek. 

“Have a good day, George.” Alex walks to the door and stops, turning back around to look at George again. “And I’m serious, don’t eat all those damn gummy bears.”

George rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try not to.”

Alex nods and closes the door behind him. 

He walks back to his office on collapses down into his chair. 

When he was a boy, Alex’s mother always told him not to play with matches. Now he knows why. He blocks and deletes John Laurens’ number from his phone, something he should’ve done a long time ago. 

A couple of hours later, Alex’s phone dings with a text message from George.

_I ate the whole bag…_ ☹ 

Alex’s new bridge is coming along quite nicely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOLD Y'ALL IT WOULD ALL WORK OUT! Again, sorry I haven't been able to reply to all the comments. I really appreciate them all so much! Special shoutout to all the Lams shippers sending me love. You guys are dope and I'm glad you're able to enjoy whamilton (my fave ship ever if you couldn't tell). 
> 
> If you haven't read the other fics in the series, the gummy bears is a reference to some other fic (don't remember which one tbh) where Alex teases George for all of the times that Alex caught him eating entire bags of gummy bears on the campaign trail, and George tells him that he always got stomachaches afterward. Just so ya know. 
> 
> Real quick, lbr, Harriet is the best OFC ever. In my head she's a White House Butler, but idk if I've actually said that before in one of the fics she's in. I should probably do that.
> 
> Also, I know George used a lot of double exclamation points in his notes, but I think it's adorable and totally in his character. I was actually channeling a bit of C Jack when I did that tbh. He uses a lot of exclamation points in his tweets and it's really. fcking. cute. (Don't even know if anyone noticed the double exclamation points but whatever I was smiling the whole time I wrote them)


	6. A Key and its Lock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact before you start: Roland Mesnier is a real dude, and he actually was Executive Pastry Chef at the White House for 25 years. He worked from the end of President Carter's first term to the end of Dubya's first term. (1979-2004). 
> 
> Okay, just a little context for the beginning there. Hope everyone enjoys!

November slowly bleeds into December and the White House is transformed into something of a winter wonderland, every room meticulously decorated with a different theme and set of decorations. Alex is incredibly disappointed when the Executive Pastry Chef, Roland Mesnier, informs him that no, he cannot eat the fancy gingerbread house. 

Every year, Roland does a different house, specially made for each individual president. For George, he makes a breathtakingly beautiful replica of Mt. Vernon, complete with marzipan sculptures of George’s two favorite horses—Nelson and Blueskin—one ridden by a marzipan George and the other by Billy Lee, the groundskeeper and dedicated stablehand. 

When Roland unveils it, George gets a little teary eyed and stares at it with a such a big grin, Alex thinks it might split his face in two. The White House photographer captures the moment, and Alex chuckles as the internet eats it up, dubbing George the “sweet baby emo president.”

Alex prints out a copy of Buzzfeed's impressive "sweet baby emo president" photo collection and discretely slips it into a brief that he prepares for George. 

He gets a text later that day: 

_What will Putin think when he finds out that i’m the sweet baby emo president??_

_I’ll answer for you: he’s going to laugh my ass straight out of the G8!!_

Some days it feels like nothing has changed. 

But in reality, rebuilding his relationship with George is a slow going, careful process. Alex can’t push too hard, and he has to be mindful of what George is and isn’t ready for.

He decides to keep up the practice of bringing George little things during the day. It’s a stupidly cheesy way to show George that he cares, and George is the king of cheesy romantic shit. 

Sometimes Alex will arrive early and leave it on George’s desk for him; other days he’ll bring it to him in the middle of the day. If George is having a particularly stressful day, he’ll bring him a Snickers bar to try and cheer him up. On days when George’s medicine isn’t enough to stave off the migraines he started getting after he was shot, Alex will bring him almonds, one of the only foods George can stand to eat after an attack. The sodium and magnesium help him feel better and they’re gentle on his stomach. Sometimes Alex will leave random things that he knows George needs: New sticky notes, a pack of highlighters, some chapstick. 

And George works at it too, inviting Alex over for dinner and lunch so they can just talk, enjoy each others’ company, and try to get back into the comfortable, effortless rhythm their relationship used to have. 

One day, he takes Alex to The National Archives after hours and they stand over the documents that built the foundation of their country: The Constitution, The Bill of Rights, and The Declaration of Independence. They stand close together, huddled over the documents, and George urges Alex to touch them, so he does. Alex carefully traces the ‘W’ in “We the People,” and the breath gets caught in his throat. They stand frozen in time, observing history as well as living it. 

The hardest part of the whole process for Alex is uncovering the many different ways he hurt George. Every day he’s faced with the ramifications of the pain he branded into George's skin. 

Some of it is very subtle, and Alex doesn’t truly see the full extent of his damage until George welcomes him back to the Residence. 

Alex is sitting at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as Humphreys dictates several ideas he has about the education initiative George is preparing to launch right after Christmas. It’s all very stream of consciousness, and Alex is looking forward to going back over the notes later so he can organize them into an eloquent memo for George to look at. 

Humphreys jumps and loses his train of thought when Alex’s phone rings, and Alex’s fingers abruptly stop, hovering over the keyboard as his brain catches up with the sudden shift in activity. Alex smiles ruefully and picks up the phone. They’d been on a roll. 

“Hello?” he asks impatiently, wanting to get back to work. 

“The president would like to see you in his office, Mr. Hamilton,” Betsy says. 

Any annoyance Alex was feeling immediately melts away and he has to fight to keep himself from smiling. “Alright, thanks Betsy.” He hangs up and saves his document. “The president needs to see me,” he says as he stands and pulls his suit jacket back on. Humphreys nods, and Alex thinks he detects a hint of jealously flash in his eyes. He shakes it off and walks to the Oval, knocking and pushing the door open in one movement. 

George is hunched over his desk, highlighting a thick document. He looks up when Alex walks in and smiles a little nervously. 

“Hey.”

“What’s up?” Alex asks as he sits on one of the couches. George chews on his lips and darts his eyes away. “George,” Alex says gently. “Is everything okay?”

“Will you stay in the Residence tonight?” he blurts out, eyes nervously flickering over to gauge Alex’s reaction. 

Alex grins, his chest tight with emotion. “Of course. I’ve missed sleeping next to you.”

George lets out a slow breath and nods. “Okay, good. Meet me for dinner at about 6:30?”

“Sounds good baby.”

Alex stands to go, but George is looking at him, chewing his lip again. Alex shakes his head and walks over to George. “What’s wrong, George?” He pulls his fingers through George’s curls, trying to soothe him. This is the way it is every time George asks him to do something now. Alex knows what’s wrong, but he has to ask and prompt George to get him talking

“I just, are you going to—”

“I promise I’ll be there,” Alex says, cutting him off. “I haven’t stood you up since… since John. I told you that I wouldn’t do that again. I wish you could believe me.” Alex sighs and swallows past a lump in his throat. “We’ll get there?”

It’s their new mantra: We’ll get there. 

George nods and smiles. “We’ll get there.”

\---

Alex shows up for dinner 10 minutes early and winks at Harriet when she sees him come up the stairs. Harriet is everyone’s favorite butler and no doubt George’s favorite staff-member in general. 

“Good evening, Mr. Hamilton,” she says as she pours him a glass of water and pats his shoulder. 

“Hey Harriet. You know what Julio’s cooked up for us tonight?”

“I believe he said that chicken casserole the president likes so much.” 

Alex smiles and takes a sip of his water. “Are you doing anything special for Christmas?” he asks, wanting to fill the silence, as well as genuinely wanting to know. Harriet’s face softens and she smiles. 

“My son is coming over with his family. It’s my grandson’s first Christmas,” she says proudly. 

Alex smiles and tries to cover up the twinge of sadness that twists in his chest. Growing up in Nevis, he never had a real family Christmas. Christmas was just another day that James and him spent doing odd jobs around the neighborhood and a chance for his mother to earn some overtime. 

However, even though they barely had enough money to slap together a piss-poor dinner each night, his mother always managed to save up enough to buy James and him something small. The last Christmas they would ever spend together, she bought him a leather-bound notebook. It was the nicest thing Alex had ever owned, the paper so fine that he was afraid to write in it at first. Then he translated his soul into words, wrote himself straight out of hell. Now he keeps the notebook on his desk, a constant reminder of where he started, a physical manifestation of all the time he spent clawing himself out of the ghetto straight to the top. He likes to think that his mother would be proud of him. 

Alex is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even hear George walk in and he jumps when George presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

George frowns and squeezes Alex’s shoulder. “Is something wrong, Alex?” 

Harriet pours George a glass of water and he nods at her appreciatively. Alex blinks and quickly rubs his eyes. 

“Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About what?” George asks softly. “You look upset.”

“My mother.”

He watches as George swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I’m sorry. Holidays are hard, aren’t they?” George smiles ruefully, and Alex almost laughs at the sheer number of people they’ve both lost.

“We’re quite the pair,” Alex murmurs as plates are set in front of them. He glances at George and watches his eyes light up when he sees the meal. Him and his stupid, boring taste in food never ceases to amuse Alex. 

George takes a hearty bite of his casserole and covers his mouth with his hand. “What do you mean ‘we’re quite the pair?’”

“Lets see, we’re both motherless and fatherless; we’ve both lost brothers; and you lost your wife. We’re quite the pair.”

As soon as he says it, he’s worried that it might upset George, but George just smiles. “At least we’ve got each other.”

Alex rolls his eyes so hard that he’s surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of his head “You are so fucking _cheesy_ ,” Alex says exasperatedly, grinning teasingly. 

“It’s starting to rub off on you,” George retorts with a shit-eating grin. Alex glares at him good-naturedly.

“Yeah maybe a little. But only a little!” 

George smirks and shakes his head. “Yeah whatever Mr. I Brought You a Snickers because You Looked Sad,” George teases. 

Alex huffs and flips George off.

George throws his head back and laughs.

\---

After they finish dinner and spend some more time sitting around and talking, Alex follows George to his bedroom.

George steps inside, but Alex hesitates by the door, suddenly unsure. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

George looks at him, his eyes hurt. “Do you not want to?” he asks quietly. Alex quickly shakes his head and walks over to George, wrapping him up in a tight hug. 

“No, no. Of course I do. I just wanted to make sure that you’re really okay with it.”

George squeezes Alex’s waist and nods. “I really am. I promise.”

Alex smiles and kisses George gently. “Well, how about we take a shower then. I’ve missed your nice ass shower. The shower at my apartment sucks. The water pressure is too hard. I swear one day it’s going chip my nipples off.” 

Alex expects George to laugh at the joke, but he just pulls out of the hug and smiles halfheartedly, his expression unreadable. “You can shower. I showered earlier after Gil and I played basketball.”

Alex frowns and crosses his arms. “I was thinking this would be more of a ‘relax after a long day with my hot boyfriend’ shower. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. I’m just gonna change and chill out here. You should take a shower though. Your shampoo and conditioner are in there.” George kisses Alex’s forehead and Alex shrugs, giving George a skeptical look. 

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Be out in a bit.” 

George nods and Alex goes into the bathroom, pulling the hairband out of his hair and stripping out of his clothes. True to his word, Alex’s shampoo and conditioner are sitting right where he left them. 

He groans in contentment when he steps into the shower, relishing in the perfect water pressure and spacious, tiled space. He takes his time lathering in the shampoo, wanting to make sure he smells nice for George. Alex assumed that George inviting Alex over meant they would at least do _something_. Alex is trying hard not to rush George, but he really misses having sex. 

Alex figures George just needed a few minutes alone. Alex grins as he thinks about George laying in bed reading in his little, tight boxer briefs. 

When Alex was staying in the Residence on a regular basis, he soon realized that the best nights were nights when he ended up working a little later than George. When he finally managed to get to the Residence, George would be laying in bed waiting for him in his boxers reading a book or editing a speech. Or, if George was really in the mood, he would be naked, cock hard against his stomach. 

He washes his body quickly as he starts to grow hard, a familiar need building in his stomach. He misses being connected to George, misses the instinctual, carnal closeness sex gave them. 

Alex sprays some of George’s cologne on and takes his time brushing his hair out. It’s silky and smooth from the conditioner—easy for George to run his fingers through. Instead of wrapping a towel around his waist, he pulls on a robe and leaves it opened. He wants George to see how much Alex needs him. 

When he walks back into the bedroom, he groans in frustration. 

“George?” he asks, not bothering to mask his disappointment. “Why the fuck are you in a t-shirt and shorts?” 

George looks up from his book, momentarily confused until he sees Alex, cock already half-hard. 

“Alex,” he says quietly, swallowing nervously. Alex sighs and walks over to the bed, letting his hips sway just a little. 

“C’mon baby, I want to show you how much I love you. I miss you, George,” he purrs as he climbs onto the bed and straddles George’s hips. George’s entire body tenses up and Alex sighs. “Too much?” 

George shakes his head and silently presses his hips up, grinding his hardening cock against Alex’s ass. Alex grins and cups George’s cheek. 

He’s still tensed up, but his pupils are rapidly dilating and he subconsciously licks his lips. 

Alex is about to grind down on George when he puts his hands on Alex’s hips, stopping him. “Wait,” he says quickly. “Wait.” 

Alex frowns down at George, and George looks away and starts to nervously chew his lip. Alex sighs softly and gently rubs George’s chest over his shirt.

“What’s wrong love?”

“Are you sure you still want me?” George asks softly. 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks, frowning in confusion. He climbs off of George and sits beside him so he can snake his arm around George’s waist, but George squirms away and stands up. He starts to pace in front of the bed. 

“I mean…” George takes a deep breath and stops pacing. Alex watches a rapid progression of emotions flash across George’s face: Sad, hurt, anxious, frustrated. Alex just nods, silently encouraging George to keep going. 

He finally shakes his head and sits on the end of the bed so his back is facing Alex. “I’m getting kind of old,” he says slowly. “I don’t look—I don’t look like I did 10 years ago. And I saw a picture of John Laurens. I looked him up because I apparently like to torture myself, and I can see why you like him. He’s lean and thin, and I’m sure very virile, if you know what I mean. But I’m not, Alex. I know you’ve noticed that sometimes I have trouble getting it up again in the middle of the night, which is depressing as fuck, by the way.” George takes a sharp breath and groans in frustration. “I guess I’m worried that you subconsciously want to be with someone younger and more attractive, because I mean, you were obviously attracted to John. What if you start to resent me because you realize that you’ve ended up in a relationship with someone you’re not attracted to?” 

Alex sits there silently, studying George’s hunched back.

_You did this to him_ , the little voice in the back of his head taunts. _You destroyed his confidence._

Alex’s stomach churns uneasily. His guilt is suffocating, a snake coiling itself slowly around his throat.

He watches helplessly as a concrete beam crumbles and a web of cracks spread across the surface of his bridge.

“Baby, come here,” he finally says softly. He ties the robe around his waist and scoots over so George has space to sit down. 

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “Please don’t placate me. Just tell me the truth. You owe me the truth.”

Alex is about to tell George that he would never lie to him, but the words die in his throat. 

Alex winces and hesitantly puts his hand on George’s thigh. 

“George, listen to me,” he says firmly, tapping George’s cheek. George looks over at him and the vulnerability in his eyes makes Alex want to cry. Alex takes a deep breath and squeezes George’s thigh. “Look, I don’t give one single shit that your stomach is a little pudgy. I think it’s cute. I seriously don’t care that you’re not all lean and thin. And you’re plenty muscular and very in shape. I don’t want to be with some guy with rock hard abs; that’s not really my type, you know that. I love the way you look. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got _amazing_ arms—literally the greatest arms on earth—and some _damn_ fine legs.” Alex smirks and squeezes George’s thigh.

George immediately starts to protest, but Alex holds his hand up and gives him a pointed look. “I’m not done yet. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” 

Alex straddles George again and reaches down to push his hands under George’s shirt, rubbing his stomach in lazy, soothing circles. George’s eyes close and he drops his head back to lean against the wall. “Do you really think I would’ve worked so hard to seduce you if I didn’t want you?” Alex asks a little teasingly, trying to diffuse some of the tension. “I think you’re _hot_ , George. I don’t want to date someone who looks like John Laurens. I promise. What I did with John… It didn’t have anything to do with you or what you look like. I’m so fucking sorry that I’ve made you feel this way, and I hope that you’ll let me help you build your confidence back up. I appreciate you for being honest with me and telling me what’s bothering you.” 

Alex leans over and kisses George gently and George kisses him back, humming softly. 

“Thank you,” George says, his breath hot against Alex’s mouth.

His bridge sways in the wind, but its foundation holds. 

“Are you okay, baby?”

George opens his eyes, and Alex leans down to rest their foreheads together. George moves his hands to hold onto Alex’s hips. 

“Kind of,” George says honestly. 

Alex kisses George again, relishing in the way their lips fit together, sliding into place like a key and its lock, welcoming them home. 

“We’ll get there?” Alex asks softly.

George nods and squeezes Alex’s hips. 

“We’ll get there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the end is finally here (maybe; I might add another chapter??) Idk, this chapter doesn't feel like my best, so sorry if everyone is sorely disappointed in this ending (and me). I needed to get it out before I lost steam with this fic. Thanks again for all of the comments and feedback on this story. I really enjoyed writing this and seeing all of y'all's reactions! 
> 
> Told you everything would be okay!!


	7. Coming for to Carry Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the end! This chapter is so stupidly sappy fml. Sorry if there's some spelling mistakes and stuff. This took several hours to write and now I'm too tired to comb through for any other small mistakes I may have missed lmao.

“It smells like horse shit in here,” Alex whines, halfheartedly trailing after George as he leads him into what Alex safely assumes is a horse stable so nice that it costs more than his tiny, D.C. apartment. 

“It does not,” George says, throwing Alex a look over his shoulder. “I make sure my stables are clean. Billy Lee runs a tight ship.” 

As if on cue, Billy Lee, Mt. Vernon’s head groundskeeper, walks out of one of the stalls and grins. He’s got thick work gloves on, and the knees of his khaki work pants are brown with dirt. He pulls off the gloves and sticks them in his pockets. Despite the freezing weather, there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wipes his face on his sleeve. 

He’s thin and wiry, and his skin is a dark black that’s a few shades darker than George’s. His salt and pepper hair is cut short and gray stubble covers the bottom half of his face. He’s handsome in a distinguished, well-kept older man way.

“Good mornin’, Mr. President. It’s good to have you here, Sir,” he says warmly, his words slowed by an endearing southern drawl. He holds his hand out for George to shake, but George pulls him into a hug instead. Billy laughs and pats George’s back. “You’re goin’ to get yourself all dirty, Sir,” he chides, pulling out of the hug and holding onto George’s shoulders. He studies George closely, his handsome, lined face full of naked adoration. George mentioned to Alex that Billy Lee was something of a father figure to him. He’s been working at Mt. Vernon since George was a little boy. 

“I’ve missed being able to get a little dirt on my clothes,” George laughs. “It feels so good to wear something other than a fucking suit. And please, call me George.”

Billy shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “Well then _George_ , you need to watch your language, young man.” 

George ducks his head and smiles. It’s the youngest he’s looked in a long time. The worry lines that were starting to dig themselves into his face seem to disappear. 

Alex stands a couple of feet away, not wanting to encroach on George’s private moment. Alex has spent a few nights at Mt. Vernon before, mostly during the rare, short breaks they had during the campaign. George made a point not to spend too much time outside of the White House during his first year, and he tended to stick to going to Camp David for his breaks so the Secret Service wouldn’t have to work too much overtime to secure Mt. Vernon. 

But he wanted to spend Christmas at Mt. Vernon, so here they are. They arrived late last night, but George pulled Alex out of the bed nice and early for a tour of the grounds despite their lack of sleep. Alex barely had time to drink one measly cup of coffee, and he’s working hard to stave off a headache and the snappy annoyance he usually displays when he doesn’t get enough sleep. Alex has only ever seen the inside of the house and the cemetery, and George clearly wants to share the happiness Mt. Vernon brings him with Alex. 

And, like most things now, Alex owes him this. Their relationship finally seems to be off the rocks. Alex’s bridge is sturdy, ready to support cars and pedestrians. The burns that John’s lips seared into his skin are finally healed. Most of the cracks in George’s heart are sealed. Occasionally the pain will flare back up, and Alex will catch George staring at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hand over his stomach and frowning. On the nights when Alex wakes up hard as a rock to the clock flashing 3 a.m., he’ll wake George up and let George bring him to completion. But when Alex slinks down George’s body and tries to help him get hard, George will eventually growl in frustration and tell Alex to go back to sleep, that it’s not going to happen tonight. 

Alex will rub George’s back and croon sweet words in his ear, assuring him that it’s okay, that Alex doesn’t mind, but George will just shake his head and curl up tightly. He retreats behind his wall, fortified to keep Alex out, and shuts down. Alex will struggle to go back to sleep as his serpentine guilt tightens around his throat, hissing in his ear. 

_He doesn’t trust your reassurances. Why should he?_

“—I’ve missed it, that’s for sure,” George is saying when Alex snaps himself out of the funk thinking about The Incident always puts him in. Alex walks over to George and Billy, not wanting George to think he’s uninterested. 

“Aw Georgie, looks like someone is finally comin’ to see you,” Billy says as a beautiful gray horse curiously walks to the front of its stall. George reaches over to affectionately pets its nose. 

“Hey Blueskin,” George coos. “How’ve you been buddy? I’ve missed you so much.” 

Alex stands there slack-jawed watching George fawn over a horse. It’s weirdly adorable. 

“He’s missed you,” Billy says as he pats Blueskin’s neck. “Not nearly as much as Nelson, though.” 

“Have you ridden him any?” George asks as he walks over to the stall with the word ‘Nelson’ emblazoned on the door. He clicks his tongue, beckoning the horse forward. As soon as Nelson sees George, he walks over and pushes his nose into George’s hand. George’s eyes light up and he kisses Nelson’s head. 

“I ride him some, but he knows it ain’t the same.” 

“I’ll have to take him out later. I’m taking Alex on a bit of a tour right now. He hasn’t been able to see much of the grounds before.” George turns and smiles at Alex, his eyes crinkling. It’s the happiest he’s looked in a while, and it makes Alex smile too. 

“Have a nice day, son.” Billy pats George on the shoulder and nods at Alex as they make their way out of the stable. 

“I had no idea you were so infatuated with your horses,” Alex teases as they walk back toward the other side of the estate so George can show him the greenhouse. 

“I love my horses,” George says. “And I love riding them even more. Have you ridden a horse before?” 

Alex laughs and shakes his head. “George, honey, I’m broke and from an island in the Caribbean. Do you _think_ I’ve ridden a horse?” Alex grins and rolls his eyes, and George laughs too.

“Okay, well, I’ll have to take you riding then. It’s so freeing. I’m honestly happiest when I’m riding.” George shrugs and his lips curl into a small smile. “The only time I ever felt close to my father was when we went riding together. This may be a little heavy for the moment, but riding with my father almost made me feel like he loved me.” George doesn’t sound sad when he says it; he sounds happy, reminiscent. 

Alex reaches over and squeezes George’s hand. 

“I like Billy a lot,” he says conversationally. “He seems to really care about you.” 

George nods and shivers as a particularly cold gust of wind seems to cut right through their heavy, winter coats. “Billy’s amazing. I grew up thinking that he was more of a father to me than my own father was. When I was probably six or seven, I accidentally called him Dad. He got mad at me and told me that I couldn’t call him that, that it would make my father angry. I was just a little kid and it was so confusing for me. Here was a man who treated me like a son, but I couldn’t call him Dad. I had to call the man who screamed at me and slapped me around Dad. I started crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe. It took an hour for Billy to calm me down.”

Unlike Alex, George very rarely talks about his childhood. Alex isn’t afraid to discuss his past anymore; it feels more like a plot-line in a dramatic movie. It’s almost like it didn’t even happen to him. The only part that truly feels real is the memory of his mother. He’s worked hard not to forget her. 

But George? He still carries some of the wounds from his childhood. Ever since he got shot it’s gotten better, but he still falls down the rabbit hole sometimes. 

Alex reaches over and squeezes George’s hand again, lacing their fingers together. It’s time for a change in topic. 

“Where are we going now?” 

“The greenhouse,” George says proudly, clearly relieved for the conversation’s redirection. 

“You know, I knew you liked horses and flowers, but I didn’t realize how much undying love you have for them.”

George laughs and knocks Alex’s shoulder. “Oh shut up. Everyone has a stress relieving hobby—Except you,” George teases. “I swear you never stop working.”

“Um, excuse you,” Alex says with mock indignation. “My stress relieving hobby is having sex with you.”

George rolls his eyes and stops suddenly, making Alex stumble as he’s jerked to a stop. “What’s wro—”

George cuts Alex off with a hungry kiss as he cups Alex’s cheek with one of his broad hands. He wraps his other arm around Alex’s shoulders, pulling him close. 

Alex makes an embarrassing whining noise and locks his fingers around the back of George’s neck. “George,” he breathes as he feels George’s erection poking his hip. “I thought we were going to the greenhouse.”

“The greenhouse isn’t going anywhere,” he murmurs as he drops his mouth to press an open mouthed kiss to the pulse point on Alex’s neck. Alex eagerly tips his head up to expose more of his neck. George tugs the collar of his coat down and sucks a bruise into Alex’s sensitive skin, making Alex’s legs go weak. 

“Then we should, we should go to the house.” Alex sucks in a sharp breath as George nips at his earlobe and sucks it into his warm mouth. 

“Are you sure you can walk?” he says in Alex’s ear, chuckling darkly. 

Alex whines again and pushes George away so he can grab his hand. “Shut up.” Alex starts tugging George toward the house, which is thankfully within a short walking distance at this point. 

George chuckles and allows Alex to pull him along. 

Alex’s chest tightens with happiness. He stokes the fire in the hearth and lets it beckon him home.

*******

George and Alex are curled up naked in a nest of soft blankets in front of the fireplace in the master bedroom. George absently combs his fingers through Alex’s hair as Alex reads aloud from _East of Eden_ on his iPad; his voice is buttery and smooth, still sated from the sex they just had. It was some of the best sex they’ve had since The Incident, and George is still reveling in the afterglow. 

George can feel his eyes getting heavy, the combination of Alex’s voice and the occasional soft kiss pressed to his jaw lulling him to sleep. 

He blinks in an attempt to keep himself awake and studies the tall, lavishly decorated Christmas tree that towers in the corner. It’s not quite as impressive as the trees that fill the White House, but it’s still beautiful. The ornaments and garnishes are coordinated to match the colors in the room and they sparkle in the flickering light of the fireplace. 

A few small presents sit tucked under the tree, the gifts they plan on exchanging with each other. George already had a small Christmas with the Lafayettes before he left D.C. He gave Geo the baseball he threw out for the first pitch at a Nationals game, and George thought the boy was going to explode with how happy he was. George gave Lafayette a simple silver bracelet—Lafayette had an affinity for nice, simple jewelry—engraved with their initials and the words _Brothers in arms_. For Adrienne he managed to procure an original painting by a French artist she admired. 

Adrienne gave George a beautiful, burgundy silk tie, which she said would bring out his eyes, and Lafayette gave him one of the original copies of _The Federalist Papers_ , a set of essays George has always admired as a politician and history buff. Geo gave him a picture of the two of them playing baseball that Lafayette snapped before George was president. George promptly put it on his desk in the Oval. 

But now it’s time for him and Alex—a full two weeks together tucked away in the privacy of Mt. Vernon. George yawns and startles when Alex elbows him in the ribs. 

“Ouch,” he mutters. “What was that for.”

“You’re off in your own head. What’re you thinking about, baby?” Alex asks, setting his iPad down. 

“Just Christmas stuff,” George says with a small shrug. 

“This is the first Christmas we’ve spent together. During the campaign you went over to the Lafayettes, before Laf knew about us.” 

George kisses the top of Alex’s head and nods. “I love you, Alex. I was worried we weren’t going to have a Christmas together this year.”

Alex takes a shaky breath and nods. “I know.” He rolls over to face George, briefly adjusting his pillow. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

“Thank you for being patient with me.”

“I’ll always be patient with you, honey,” Alex whispers. 

George pulls Alex as close as possible, wanting to meld their bodies together so they never have to be apart again. 

George can finally relax as he hauls himself over the edge, leaving the abyss swirling below him. His arms are tired and his chest is sore, but Alex’s bridge is waiting for him. 

George walks away, leaving the edge behind him, ignoring the enticing tug of the abyss. 

Alex’s bridge is sturdy under his feet and he lets it lead him home. 

*******

Christmas dinner is a simple affair. Alex knows that Mt. Vernon has cooks, but George sends them home to be with their families, and Alex and him cook the meal together. 

What they end up with is an amalgamation of dishes. 

George makes his mother’s corn bread dressing, glazed sweet potatoes, and mac and cheese. Alex makes Johnny cakes, a cornmeal flatbread that you eat with honey and butter; his mother used to make them as a special treat on Christmas. He also makes the classic rice, beans, and plantains. They’re too lazy to cook any meat, so they choose to go without it. 

George tries to make a pie for dessert but somehow fucks it up, so they end up eating frosted animal crackers that Alex impulsively picked up when he went to the store to get all of the supplies—George couldn’t exactly stroll into a Publix, so Alex went without him. When he got back and they unloaded everything, George held up the animal crackers and rolled his eyes, giving Alex a withering look. 

As they sit curled back up in their nest of blankets eating them straight out of the box, Alex gloats and teases George, claiming that he saved Christmas. George just rolls on top of him and tickles him until he has to beg for mercy. 

After they drink a little too much wine, trading expensive bottles back and forth in between sloppy, giggly kisses, George sits up and stretches his arms above him. “We should open presents,” he says, his words slurred.

“Can you be one of my presents?” Alex says as he pulls George close to him and kisses him hungrily. George tastes like the sweet dessert wine they were just sharing, and Alex feels even more intoxicated, drunk off the feeling of George in his arms. 

“Wait,” George whines, pushing on Alex’s chest. “We need to open real presents.” 

George manages to pull himself off the ground and he slowly stumbles over to the Christmas tree. Alex admires his body, enjoying the way the fire is throwing shadows on the curves of George’s naked body. 

George unceremoniously plops back down on the blankets, his arms full of not so nicely wrapped presents. They both confessed to being absolutely awful at wrapping presents. 

Alex feels a little guilty when he sees the series of boxes George has for him. Even with his job, money always seems to be tight, so Alex could only afford to get George one thing. 

George wordlessly passes Alex three boxes in varying sizes. “Does it matter which one I open first?” Alex asks. George shakes his head. His eyes are bright and slightly glazed from the alcohol. There’s a lazy smile on his face.

Alex tears into the first present, wasting no time on the wrapping paper, and sucks in a breath. It’s a beautiful gray suit, and a quick, discrete check of the label lets him know it’s Armani, made in Italy. Alex looks up at George to see him chewing his lip nervously. 

“Do you like it?” he asks softly, eyes flickering away to stare at the wall. “We’ll have to take it to the tailor to get it properly fitted for you, but if you don’t like it, you can always pick out a different one. I just thought the gray would look nice on you, and you don’t have a gray suit, you know? And I think it’ll look really nice with that tie I got you for your birthday last year,” George says, rambling anxiously. Alex laughs and motions George over. 

“I love it,” he says and punctuates the statement with a kiss. George breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Okay good.” 

Alex gently trails his fingers down the soft, expensive material. “What’s it made of?”

“90 percent wool, ten percent cashmere.” 

Alex swallows. He doesn’t want to know how much this must have cost. 

“It’s beautiful, baby.” He smiles and laughs when George stands up to get them another bottle of wine.

“Keep going; I’m just going to pop open another bottle of moscato. That shit is so good.” 

Alex smiles amusedly and hastily rips the paper off of the next present. This one is slender and bumpy. When he gets the paper off, he sputters and laughs, his eyes instantly filling with tears. George walks back over and tips his head back to take a long sip of the wine as he sits down. He smiles nervously and passes Alex the bottle. “Is this one too cheesy?” he asks hesitantly. 

Alex shakes his head and pulls the rest of the paper off the simply carved wooden frame. It’s the first copy of George’s Iowa stump speech that Alex gave him on the first day they met, right after George hired him as head speechwriter. The speech is titled Corn Shit Speech #1, and Alex laughs, hastily rubbing at his eyes. 

“I can’t believe you kept this,” Alex says, looking up at George. 

“I kept all your speeches.” 

George hastily takes the wine bottle from Alex and tips his head back again. 

“We’ve come a long way from then,” Alex murmurs. 

“I’m president and you’re my senior advisor.” George sets the wine down and squeezes Alex’s hand. “And my cute ass boyfriend.” 

Alex laughs and squeezes George’s hand back. “Can I open my last present now?”

George nods, looking nervous again. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it back okay?”

“Shut up, George. I’ve liked all the other presents so far. I’m sure I’ll like this one too.”

The last present is a square box small enough to fit into the palm of Alex’s hand. He unwraps it and instantly realizes that it’s a jewelry box. Alex opens it up to reveal a simple silver ring, but before he can say anything, George holds his hand up.

“It’s for your right hand.”

Alex laughs, letting out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. I was about to freak out a little.” 

Alex carefully holds it up, smiling when he sees both of their initials engraved on the inside. “I love it George. It’s beautiful.” 

George swallows and nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I wanted you to have something that you could wear as a token, or whatever.”

“You sappy son of a bitch,” Alex says teasingly. “Buying me a token of your love.”

George’s face is already flushed form the alcohol, but his cheeks burn about 5 shades redder at Alex’s words. Alex shakes his head and slips the ring on, admiring the way it looks on his finger. 

“I love you, Alex.”

“I love you too, you fucking romantic goofball.” Alex kisses George gently before handing him his gift. “I could only get you one present, so, uh, sorry if it’s a little disappointing. Your gifts are all so great. Mine sucks in comparison.”

George shakes his head. “You got it for me and that’s what matters.” 

Alex watches closely as George opens the present, taking his time and carefully pulling the wrapping paper off. Of course George is that kind of person. 

When he finally gets it open, George looks up at him, his eyes wide. “Alex I love it.” George takes the small flag pin out of its box and looks at it closely.

“It was Franklin Roosevelt’s. He wore it at the Yalta Conference. There are only 48 stars because we didn’t have Hawaii and Alaska yet.”

George rubs his eyes and closes his hand around the pin. “I love it, Alex. That’s amazing.”

Alex smiles sheepishly and helps George move everything off the blankets. Alex absently rubs the ring on his finger as they work.

After George lays down, he motions Alex over, and Alex immediately crawls into his arms, turning to face him. 

“Merry Christmas, George,” he says softly. George smiles warmly.

“Merry Christmas, Alex.”

George kisses him then, and his lips are as warm as the fire flickering behind them. Alex realizes that George has always been the fire in his hearth—a gentle flame that requires attendance and care, and in exchange, offers a warmth that protects him from the bitter cold of the world around them.

John Laurens’ love burned him. George’s love thawed him after he was left out in the cold. 

George kisses Alex again and Alex presses close to him, needing to feel George’s skin against his own. They lay there in silence, their heartbeats creating a rhythm that’s all their own.

Alex watches George walk across his bridge, finally coming home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, a note on some of the gifts. The flag pin: Franklin Roosevelt didn't wear a flag pin at the Yalta Conference or really ever. The first president to consistently wear a flag pin was Richard Nixon. And the suit: I spent an embarrassing amount of time on the Armani website choosing a suit I liked. It costs $3,895.00. (Cue the dramatic 'damn' from the Reynolds Pamphlet)
> 
> Second, thanks to everyone who read this, left kudos, and commented. All of y'all's reactions made this so fun to write!
> 
> Third, I hope everyone enjoyed it. Sorry if this chapter is weird and annoyingly sappy lmao. 
> 
> And finally, sorry for all of the stupid extended metaphors. Holy shit.


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